


Dissever My Soul From Yours

by Alliswell



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anger, Brief Depression, Canon Typica Anger Issues, Description Of Domestic Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everlark Fic Exchange 2018, F/M, Five Stages of Grief, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It’s going to be a bumpy ride, Smut, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-04-22 23:22:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14319318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alliswell/pseuds/Alliswell
Summary: Losing a loved one is hard enough, losing a child makes it even worse. Peeta Mellark struggles to move on from the loss of his son, Rye, clinging to the last connection to his son left alive: his girlfriendBased on Everlark Fic Exchange 2018 Challenge,Prompt 106:“Katniss is Rye’s girlfriend when he dies. Katniss and Peeta (Rye’s father) start to hang out to go through their grief together.”[submitted by Anonymous]Heed the tags. Somewhat Happy Ending, but it’s gonna hurt to get there.





	1. Wingèd Seraphs of Heaven Coveted Him.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fan fiction. I did not receive financial gain through this story. 
> 
> All the Canon Characters from The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins. 
> 
> Thank you to RunOn (kleeklutch@tumblr) for Reading this story and letting me bounce my ideas off you and discuss your insights. It was absolutely helpful!
> 
> All mistakes are mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed.
> 
> All mistakes are mine.

The sky is overcast, not a ray of sun penetrates the thick blanket of gray clouds covering the entire town of Panem.

The weather is appropriate. It reflects the storm I carry inside.

No parent should ever have to put their child in the ground.

I’m wandering aimlessly around the house. So big, so empty. I wish I wasn’t here right now. I wish I could follow my boy right into his grave, but life isn’t fair, at least that’s one thing my mother got right in all her wrongness.

Now I’m thinking of my mother. I feel anger rising in my chest along my hurt and sorrow.

How is it that such a hateful woman gets to live so long into her elderly years, yet my son got ripped away from me so young?

He would’ve been 23, in less than three months!

He grew up to be a good man. He decided early on he wanted to be in the Navy; he served his country, and I would never begrudge his time away from home. I prayed for his safety everyday he was gone. I almost cried with happiness when he told me he had some leave time for the holidays. My boy was coming home after almost a whole year away. I was so proud of him. I still am!

But the worst happened before he even had a chance to settle in at home.

Where’s the justice in that?

Hot, fat, unshed tears fill my eyes, blinding me to the point I can only see silhouettes; but that’s alright, most of the mourners have already gone home. I’m free to cry and scream if I chose to do so.

One such silhouette approaches me deliberately slowly. I know is my best friend, even before she calls my name in that pitying tone I’m starting to resent.

“Peeta, the last visitor just left. Will you be okay if I start putting away—“

She stops talking mid sentence. Her face turns sharply towards the room she stopped me by, and I grow faint.

It’s Rye’s old bedroom, and someone’s sobbing inside.

To their credit, whoever’s in there is crying very quietly. I didn’t hear it at first, and in my state I would’ve probably miss it completely if not for Johanna.

I see Jo’s face contort into a mix of annoyance and anger. Before I can say anything, she throws the door open and stalks inside.

“Excuse me, but visitation is over, and the family is getting ready to pack up for the move. So, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry. I-I lost track of time. I—I didn’t mean to overstay. I’ll leave right away…” stammers the poor girl inside the room.

I peek my head in out of morbid curiosity and see the raven dark haired girl scrambling to gather herself. When she lift her pretty, tear stained face, I feel an acute pain in the chest, where my heart keeps stuttering.

“Katniss! It’s alright. You can stay!” I practically yell stepping fully into the room.

I catch myself, taking stock of where I'm standing and freeze in place.

After a torturous moment, I take a huge step backwards, until I’m outside the door frame. I tell Katniss from the safety of the hallway, she can stay for as long as she wants, and that she’s welcome to help herself to anything in the room… unless it holds sentimental value to me, that is.

I feel awkward standing there, saying the words. So I turn around robotically and stomp away as fast as I can.

Johanna follows me to the kitchen, where I’m trying to fill up the kettle, but my hand is trembling something awful.

“I never knew you had Parkinson’s,” Says Johanna snatching the kettle from me, pushing me away with her hips and taking over the chore.

“I don’t,” I glare at her.

“Well, that’s a relief Shaky Shakerton.”

“Shut up, Jo. Is not nice to make light of a serious condition.” I tell her offended.

She arches an eyebrow, and makes a noncommittal noise at the back of her throat.

“So, that was the famous Katniss Everdeen, then?” She asks after setting the kettle on the stove.

All the answer I give her is a distracted nod.

“Hmm.” The noise sounds judgmental, so I glance at her.

“What?” I ask defensively on behalf of Rye.

“Nothing.” Jo responds. “She’s just… _skinny_.” She adds with a shrug.

I have the nagging sensation that’s not exactly what she wanted to say, but I latch on it anyway.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing! That in the few years I’ve heard that boy gushing about her, I never imagined her being so small.”

Again, her nonchalance bellies a hidden meaning I’m too disgruntled to figure out.

“She’s petite, so what? You are a stick with boobs!” I retort.

“Awww! You noticed the girls!” She cooes, squeezing her upper arms together to push her breasts out.

I roll my eyes. I’m not in the mood for Johanna’s irreverent antics. But the scathing response I’m about to give her dies in my mouth when I notice Katniss standing on the doorway.

“Jesus!” Hisses Johanna clutching a hand to her chest. “You’re lucky I’m not a lumberjack! I could’ve thrown an ax at your forehead for scaring me like that! Are you part ghost or something? So quiet!”

Katniss scowls at Jo. “I’m sorry,” she says curtly, giving the impression she’s not sorry at all.

Jo shivers, but then gives Katniss her cat-like smirk, “Nah, it’s fine. By the way, I’m Rye’s favorite auntie, Johanna Mason.” She drawls.

“Katniss Everdeen. Rye’s too _skinny_ girlfriend.” She deadpans.

Tensions are a little high for a moment. I’m a little aggravated at Jo when Katniss is the one to offer a peace branch.

“Rye used to talk a lot about his auntie Jo.” She’s quiet for a second. “He told me once that you were the only mom he ever knew.”

The silence that follows is heavy and full of grief.

“Fuck!” Jo hisses. “Now you’ve done it, brainless!” She snaps at Katniss. “That was not an okay comment to share today. Excuse me, I gotta go punch something.”

Johanna retreats to the backyard hastily, pawing harshly at the tears falling down her cheeks as she practically runs outside.

I’m honestly befuddled by my friend’s reaction. Especially because the comment was actually very sweet and warming. I chance a glance at Katniss, but to my surprise, she doesn’t looked troubled or even curious about Jo. She realizes I’m staring at her, and shrugs.

“Grieve is weird.” She offers mildly.

The kettle starts whistling then.

I rush to get it off the burner, and offer lamely, “Tea?”

“No, thank you.” She responds, merely staring at Jo through the sliding glass door for a second, before addressing me.

“Mr. Mellark, I was wondering if I could take this picture?” She raises a frame and waves it at me. “I’m in it, but I’ve never seen it before. Also, I’m interested in a couple of Edgar Allan Poe books on his shelf?”

My head shoots up from my task of pouring hot water into mugs.

“You want the Poe books?”

I must’ve sound harsh, because her cheeks turn scarlett and her eyes bulge a little.

She stammers, “Well. Yes. I mean, Rye and I loved his writings. In fact, Annabel Lee was what got us talking to each other the first time we met outside of school. We were discussing illness and death.”

She stops in her tracks, and frowns.

“I’m sorry. That was inappropriate to bring up right now. I… I’ll understand if you rather keep—“

“Katniss, it’s okay!” I cut in trying to placate her. “Take the books, please! I was just surprised you even noticed them.”

“Why wouldn’t I’ve noticed them? I’ve read them all. I just don’t own any copies, personally.”

Judging by the scowl on her face, I’m pretty I’ve offended her somehow. She tries to reel herself in, but the way her jaw ticks is an endearing give away of just how frustrated she truly is.

I take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry if I offended you. I didn’t mean to insult you. If you want the books, please, by all means, take them.”

“I don’t wanna be rude. I’ve already caused a bad impression on Auntie Jo.” The way she says the name tells me Johanna didn’t impressed Katniss either.

She tries to keep a passive mask on, but I see flashes of annoyance in her gray eyes.

“You know, Johanna is my best friend in the world but she can be a bit…”

“Judgemental?”

“I was going to say, blunt, but—“

“Mr. Mellark, look, you don’t have to make up excuses for your friend. I know grief brings out the worst in people. Miss Johanna and I met under horrible circumstances, I’m not gonna hold this interaction against her.”

“But what about you? You were crying in the room when she bursted in kicking you out. You gotta feel sad and angry…” I trail off.

“Oh, I do.” She tells me plainly. “I feel like my heart got tore out of my chest, and the pain is slowly devouring me from the inside out. I just lost my best friend. The fact that he was two mere blocks away from my place just makes it even more horrible. But, I’ve had experience managing my own grief. I only allow myself so much despair, and then I have to collect myself.”

And here I was thinking it was lucky she wasn’t a professional actress, not being able to hide her emotions, when probably she was just choosing to wear her aggravation on her sleeve to keep the sadness at bay.

Rye was on his way to pick her up for their first official date since he got back home. He was crazy about her. So excited to finally be able to see her, touch her, just spend time with her.

But fate is a bitch.

Rye was only a few blocks from her apartment, when he came across a family; the father was berating one teenaged kid, the mom tried to intervene while another kid stood by petrified. The man struck his wife across the face so hard she almost fell down on her ass.

I don’t know what exactly moved him to action, other than he saw a need and it was the right thing to do. Rye stepped in, to defend the woman and children from their abuser.

My boy got stabbed in the kidney by the coward.

There was internal bleeding the paramedics couldn’t stop.

My Rye past away in the ambulance, on the way to the hospital.

I had to call Katniss myself and to inform her she hadn’t been stood up. At least not on purpose. It was possibly the most heart wrenching call I’ve ever made.

I wish there was some word of comfort I could say to ease her pain, but nothing comes forward. She seems to be well acquainted with grief, which kind of worries me a little.

Since Rye and Katniss were going out steadily, I made the effort to meet her family. But now I feel like I really didn’t take a genuine interest in them. I know Mrs. Everdeen has been a widow for a very long time, but that’s the extent of my knowledge.

At the end, we are both too stunned to say anything else, and Katniss just walks eerily quiet back to Rye’s room. A few minutes later, she emerges back, red-rimmed eyes avoiding me at all costs, hugging a couple of books and the picture frame to her chest.

She thanks me briefly and makes to leave.

“Katniss,” I call out.

She turns towards me.

“Will you be okay?” 

She nods slowly, answering meekly. “I will.”

“Will you call me if you need anything?”

She studies me for a moment, chewing the inside of her cheek.

“Sure. Thanks.” She says curtly, and walks out the door quickly.

I know she won’t call me, and somehow that feels like I’ve lost another piece of Rye.

 

* * *

 

 

I stand nervously in the hallway, re-checking the address, making sure I’m at the right apartment despite having been here many times before or the glaringly obvious ‘Everdeen’ tag under the peephole.

I knock and wait, rearranging my hold on the heavy box I’m carrying. It takes another minute for me to decide maybe there’s no one home, and my mind starts formulating ideas of what to do next.

I could probably leave the box here, put a note on it… but what if someone steals it? Could I ask the super to keep an eye on it until she comes back? How does UPS do it when they have to deliver a big package in an apartment building?

I don’t know if coming here is weird. I just couldn’t stop feeling like reaching out to make sure she’s okay.

It’s what Rye would’ve want me to do, or at least that’s what I tell myself to justify my visit.

I’ve almost decided it’s better this way, it was a stupid idea to come unannounced. I’m already halfway down the hallway when the elevator arrives with a loud ping, and out comes Katniss Everdeen, carrying grocery bags in both hands.

“Mr. Mellark?” She sounds surprised. “What are you doing here?” There’s no rejection in her tone, which is something.

“Hello, Katniss. Sorry I showed up here out of the blue. I’m just officially about to put the house on the market in the next few weeks, and I have to get everything out of the place by Thursday to start fixing some minor details before I put it on for sale.” I tell her shrugging my shoulders.

“Oh, yeah. I remember now. You’re selling your house and moving closer to your bakery in the city.”

I chuckle under my breath. “Actually… I leased an apartment up in the 12th floor.” If my hands weren’t full, I’d be scratching the back of my neck nervously right now.

I’m not sure why divulging this to Katniss suddenly makes me feel silly. I guess the expression on her face is what makes me weary.

“Here? In this building?” She asks bewildered.

I take a shuddering breath. “It was supposed to be a surprise for Rye.”

“Oh.” Katniss averts her gaze from mine, and really I couldn’t hold hers much longer either. “I… See.”

We fall silent for a very long time, until I start justifying my ridiculous impulse of bringing my son closer to her. He was a grown ass man, he could’ve moved in with her if he’d wanted to. He didn’t need his daddy to hold his hand like that.

“It’s just temporary. Six months tops. I’m remodeling the apartment above my bakery and it’s going so slow. And Rye was going to be home so short, he was dreading the one hour commute to work, and he was unhappy he couldn’t see you as often as he wanted to.”

I chuckle mirthlessly. 

“Those sounds like flimsy reasons to move here. I’m sorry for not asking you beforehand if coming into your building would have inconvenienced you. It just dawned on me that I’m imposing on your privacy. I never meant to disregard your opinion. It just… never crossed my mind, until just now that I should’ve ask your permission first.”

I feel like a jackass. But her face is impassive. I’m not sure what to say next, so I rush with the original reason I came here for.

“Look, um, management is sprucing up my apartment right now. They’ve painted every wall inside and installed new carpets, they’re supposed to release it to me on Wednesday, and I’m all packed up. I’m not sure I can back out of the lease for a bit, but that’s another issue altogether. 

“You see, I’m downsizing, and I have this Edgar Allan Poe collection that needs a new home. Otherwise, I’m gonna have to donate them to Goodwill or something, and I’m not sure if anyone will appreciate them.” I shuffle the box forward so she gets my meaning.

Her eyes go round, staring at the box.

I add quickly, “You don’t have to take them thought. Really. I… I think I’m developing this horrible habit of assuming stuff, which is unfair to you, and it’s not my intention at all… You know?”

I’m rambling. Badly!

She opens her mouth but mine won’t shut up.

“So, how about you don’t pay me any mind and pretend I wasn’t here. In fact, if you see me around for the next six months, just ignore me, and if you think it’s weird that I’m living here, and you can’t ignore me, just tell me to move out already... It’s okay—“

“Mr. Mellark!” She raises her voice over mine, chuckling, “I’ll be happy to take the books off your hands! There’s no telling how long those poor babies could sit on the thrift store shelf gathering dust.”

I’m momentarily distracted by her smile. I’ve seen it many times over the last few years, but I just realized that when she smiles, her lips curl just a little bit to the left, and her eyes crinkle just a tad.

She’s very pretty.

Objectively speaking.

She brings me back to the present, “So… would you like to come in? That box looks heavy, and I have frozen yogurt in one of the bags.”

“Oh! Yeah! Sure! Of course.”

I’ve been in her apartment a handful of times, either to pick up letters and little gifts to put in care packages I shipped  Rye during his deployments, or to drop off stuff he’d sent her.

I guess I was some kind of bridge between them. In a way, I was also part of their relationship, as odd as that sounds.

As soon as we walk in, I deposit the box on the coffee table; she continues on to the kitchen.

Her apartment is practically a studio with a bedroom, a bathroom and a kitchen-living room-dining area open floor combo. The one I’m renting has two bedrooms instead, plus a balcony hers lack, but the rest is the same.

I offer to help her put groceries away, but she declines demurely.

Instead, she asks, “Can I offer you something to drink?”

I settle in the small couch and she adds, making a funny face.

“Your choices are: straight up water, water on the rocks, hot water with a pouch of chamomile flowers, better known as tea, and of course, frozen yogurt, fresh from the store.”

“Tea is fine.” I chuckle. Then add as an afterthought, “No sugar, thank you.”

When she comes with the tea, we sit in the couch just taking sips of the calming brew, but her eyes keep straying to the box.

“You should take a look inside.” I tell her. “I think there are some repeats in there. Also, not everything is Poe. I think there’s some Mark Twain and even a copy of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein.”

Her eyes widen just as her hands reach to snatch the box up from the table and dump it on the couch between us.

Every time she pulls a new book from it, she either smiles or “Ooh”s. It’s like watching a kid opening Christmas presents. I guess at least that part of the holidays isn’t ruined.

I’m smiling widely as well.

“Mr. Mellark, this is too much! There are books here that have been well loved for years!” She says caressing the worn, dog eared cover of Frankenstein.

I smile sadly. “Some belonged to my granny. She took me a Rye in when I had nowhere to go with a newborn. She loved the old classics. She learned how to read when she emigrated to America, and she just loved books. She read to Rye every night before bed. I miss them both. I can’t make myself read the books right now, so I figured it would be a disservice to them both to just toss them out or donate them. If you keep them, at least I’d know they went to someone who will enjoy them as much as they did.”

She looks at me with a sadness filling her eyes. There’s no pity. Just understanding and empathy.

“I’ll be honored to take them.” She hugs Frankenstein to her chest.

We fall into a companionable silence, but her eyes are lost somewhere in the rug. A sweet smile tugs at her lips.

“Rye said you guys lived with his _Gigi_. He said he didn’t remember much about her, except that her kitchen always smelled like warm snickerdoodles and goulash.” She pauses scrunching up her nose. “I can’t say I could picture the smell. It just sounds like two completely different things to sniff at.”

I laugh. A real, full belly laugh. One that I’ve forgotten I could produce. One that I thought was lost to me forever, with my boy.

She looks at me for a second, before shaking her head ruefully and smiling at the book cradled in her hands.

“How about I’ll invite you over for supper after I move in and recreate the aromas? Then you can have goulash and cookies Mellark style.”

My smile wavers when she looks away, biting the inside of her mouth. I inhale deeply, when she nods minutely.

“Okay.”

“Good!”

I feel better already. I’m not ready to let go of this ghost connection to Rye I feel through Katniss.

 

* * *

 

 

The first week after finally moving into the building, Katniss stops by with a six pack of Mike’s Hard Lemonade. I’m surprised she even knew I like the drink, until she smirks uncorking one and simply says “Rye!” followed by a shrug.

“I got carded too, and they gave me a hard time making sure my I.D. wasn’t fake, so you better enjoy every last drop!” She quips.

“I promise I’ll make them last!” I take the bottle she hands to me and she opens one for herself.

She sits on my brand new breakfast bar stools, and compliments my shark and alligator oven mitts hanging above the stove.

We laugh together when I tell her the story behind them, how I bought them to entice Rye to join me in the kitchen. Coming from a very long line of bakers, it was my duty to teach my only son to bake too, but Rye wasn’t interested at all. So he groused and complained the whole time until he turned on the mixer before I could stop him. A cloud of flour puffed out of the mixing bowl, leaving us covered with flour head to toe. That was the only thing Rye enjoyed about that day.

From very young Rye wanted to be an army man. Then he switched to Air Force pilot. And then, when he was around 15 years old, we took a trip to San Diego, California, where we toured the USS Midway Museum. He fell in love with everything Navy.

“Where you okay with Rye ditching the baking tradition?” Katniss asks peering at me curiously.

“Yeah.” I say sincerely. “I would’ve never forced him to become a baker if he didn’t want it. I bake because I love it. I inherited my bakery from Granny herself because of it. I went to school and got me a business degree to help me run my shop easier, but I would’ve never hold Rye back from his dreams.”

Katniss takes another pull from her drink.

“I’m glad you had each other. Rye was a good man, just like you, Mr. M.”

I smile gratefully at her.

“You can call me Peeta, you know. Any person that brings me alcohol as a housewarming gift is in my best pals list.”

“Oh!” Her shoulders jiggle with laughter, dislodging her long dark braid from them.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to call you anything other that Mr. Mellark. Old habits dying hard and all that. But thanks, I like having a pal.”

I sense some forlorn hidden emotion in her words. But then she mumbles quietly.

“I’m not very good at making friends. That was Rye’s thing.”

I frown. “Well… you have a friend, right here!”

Her gray, sparkly eyes meet mine, and her lips turn up mischievously.

“Are you gonna pull a cowboy hat and boots from under your counter and break into song?” She arches an eyebrow expectantly.

I give her a quizzical look, and she starts singing.

“ _You've got a friend in me_  
_You've got a friend in me…_ ”

She arches both eyebrows at me, but I stare back at her speechless. Not because I don’t know the song- I remember it now, clear as day- but my mind is stuck on just how sweet her singing voice is.

“Nothing?” She asks motioning with her hands.

When I blink at her stupidly, she brings her cellphone out of her back pocket and starts typing furiously, she finds the song in YouTube and shows me the video.

Tom Hanks’ voice rings out the beloved ditty.

“ _You’ve got a friend in me_  
_You’ve got a friend in me_  
_You got troubles, I've got 'em too_  
_There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you_  
_We stick together and see it through_  
_‘Cause you've got a friend in me_  
_You've got a friend in me…_ ”

She pulls her phone away, and the words slip my mouth before I can stop them. “I like it better when you sing.”

She blushes a little, but smiles.

“Thanks.” She offers quietly. “I don’t sing much. Not after my daddy passed away. We used to sing together all the time. But without him, is not the same anymore.”

I can relate to the feeling.

I cover her hand with mine, “I meant it. You have me now.”

Her responding smile gives me hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: from “Annabel Lee”, by Edgar Allan Poe.
> 
> Lyrics to “You’ve Got a Friend in Me” by Randy Newman (Toy Story, 1995)
> 
> I posted this story in two parts on tumblr, but I’m breaking it into smaller chapters in here, since there’s no rush, and mustvof you already probably read it during the EFE challenge.


	2. The angels, not half so happy in Heaven, Went envying her and me

 

I’ve been running myself ragged this past week.

With the Christmas rush I almost never leave the kitchen at work. I take it upon myself to decorate every single cake we bake.

Lately, I make a game of it, to see how detailed I can make them; how many techniques I can use in a single cake; how many colors I can add to the mix without making it tacky. Anything, as long as it kills time.

I stay in and frost until my sight gets blurry and colorblind.

The night before Christmas Eve, I’m surprised to see my staff file into the kitchen in the middle of the night; I ask what are they doing here so late, and only get quirky looks all around.

One of the bakers asks me if I ever went home to sleep.

It turns out I didn’t.

I worked all night through and still stay the rest of my shift, until I pipe “ _Happy Jesus Birthday_ ” on a cake commissioned by the Sisters of Mercy Halfway Home and Shelter, and the whole top has to be scraped off.

Luckily the rest of the cake was flawless.

Somebody else takes over, but I still hang around looking over their shoulder and grimacing and humming disapprovingly when they use a tip I wouldn’t have chosen.

They finally have my junior manager, Rue, kick me out of the bakery.

I finally come home and sit in the dark in the living room, driving myself insane with pent up anxiety. I flex my fingers on my knees debating if I should go back to the bakery. _I’m the owner goddamnit, I can do whatever I want!_ But out of respect for my staff, I stay with my ass glued to the couch.

Jo calls for the 100th time to ask me to come home to Panem. I can stay with her if I don’t want to crash at my folks. My brothers are there with their families. Yada, yada, yada.

I tell her I’m busy. “Christmas is my most profitable time of the year, Jo. I can’t just up and leave while my poor staff stays and work. They wanna see their families too, you know.”

Johanna snorts, “Since when do you care about the bottom line, Peeta? That’s the laziest lie ever, Mellark. You’re slipping! You used to be so smooth.”

I shake my head though she can’t see the gesture.

“I’m busy, Jo. Maybe I’ll come next week.”

“PEETA! Next week isn’t Christmas!”

“Jo, seriously… I can’t go. I’m sor—“

“Stop lying to me! I saw your old schedule, and you had given yourself today and tomorrow off! I know because I put it in my calendar! In fact I took a picture of it, so I wouldn’t forget to put it in my calendar… I’m sure it’s still stored somewhere in my phone, I’ll text it to you in a sec…”

There’s a timid knock on the door, and I have never been so grateful for solicitors on Christmas Eve.

“Hey, there’s someone at the door. I’ll call you right back, okay?”

“Peeta Mellark, don’t you dare hang up on m—“

Silence!

Blessed, beautiful silence.

I’ll call her back tomorrow… maybe.

They knock again, and I make my way to answer, because now I feel obligated to come see what they want since I used them as my excuse to escape Johanna’s nagging.

Katniss stands in the hallway, wearing a Darth Vader knitted sweater that reads “ _I find your lack of cheer disturbing”_. It makes me giggle.

“Hi,” she wiggles her fingers at me shyly.

“Hey,” I say stepping aside to let her come in.

She simply hovers around the door, hands clasped behind her back. “So… my mama and Prim came to the city for Christmas, because I decided I couldn’t be in Panem this year. Not after…”

She trails off, her hand makes a vague gesture, then her ugg clad foot hooks behind her calf, giving her the look of a cute, dark haired flamingo.

“You know.” She says awkwardly.

“Yeah.” I respond leaning my shoulder in the door jamb. “I know.” Because I do know.

She sighs. “It’s just easier, to pretend he’s not home because he’s somewhere on deployment, when I’m here. Here is safe. There are no reminders of him.”

Her voice cracks, a wayward tear pokes the rim of her eye. She averts her gaze to manage her tears, but I’m the one who breaks.

I inhale a breath that lodges in my throat. Suddenly, I’m bent over at my waist sobbing. The stress of the week crashing down on me for what it really is: I’m hiding from this crushing pain.

My baby was supposed to be home, with me, instead, he’s six feet under frozen dirt, alone and silent, and the only person that seems to understand the magnitude of my pain has finally put into words, plain and simple, what I haven’t been able to acknowledge: I don’t want to remember he’s gone.

As long as I stay here, busy with work, Rye could be anywhere in the world, smiling and breathing.

I feel a slender body wrap over my back, and then she’s crying and apologizing.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Please, Mr. Mellark don’t cry. I’m so, so sorry…”

We must’ve been kneeling here, huddling together and crying a long time, because I hear Katniss’ mother talking softly above us.

“Prim, help your sister up, I’ll take care of mister Peeta.”

They bring us inside, put us in the couch, and although neither of them have ever been to my apartment before, Ms Everdeen and Primrose take control of the place.

Lights are turned on, our legs are snuggly covered with blankets and they’ve put mugs of hot tea in our hands.

“I’m sorry Mr. M. I was just supposed to ask you to come downstairs to watch Elf and eat popcorn with us. I know you are staying in Capitol City because you miss him too. I didn’t want you to be sad and alone tonight,” Katniss mutters miserably, dropping her head to the backrest.

I look at her, and it’s the strangest thing!

I feel the fluttering of butterfly wings in my stomach. Something I’ve forgotten how it felt a long time ago.

Her face it’s all blotchy; her nose is red, shiny, and a little runny; her eyes are also red and puffy; and there are dry tear tracks down her cheeks. I’ve never seen anything prettier in my life.

I tear my eyes away from her and take a gulp of my scalding hot tea, burning my tongue. Karma will make things right, my little lapse in judgement is beyond inappropriate.

I fan my mouth for a minute.

“Sure, Katniss. I’ll come.”

 

* * *

 

Christmas came and left, and it was the most painful thing in my life.

I cried so much, all the time, I had to constantly be drinking gallon upon gallon of water to keep hydrated. I would give myself headaches, and I swear I lost 5 pounds just crying.

Losing a child sucks. Losing a child around Christmas is just torture.

Watching people cheerfully dote on their little children, getting them an extra cookie because it’s the holidays! Or worse, having to see people be cold and gross to their kids. 

Why would any parent mistreat they’re children? Who could physically hurt someone so little and squishy cheeked and go on as if nothing is wrong? 

Its unfair! I’m longing for my boy, while someone else is decking a young child on the side of the head for being distracted at the pretty decorations in my bakery windows. 

People seriously don’t appreciate what they have. The preciousness of life. I’m appalled by humanity. 

The only saving grace in this miserable time is Katniss. She’s been the sweetest, most perfect angel.

Her mother and sister took care of us both for a few days while they were in town. Ms. Everdeen offered to refer me to a grief counselor, and I told her I’d think about it. But the jury is still out on the topic.

Katniss and I start having dinner together every weekend.

It’s nice to catch up after a long working week, it helps dull out the sting of grief. We talk about books, movies, ideas and Rye. We talk a lot about Rye.

One Thursday night, three weeks into our weekly arrangement, I hear someone banging at my door. When I look through the peephole, I see her standing there, raising her fist to bang again.

I’m taken aback when I open the door, and she falls into my arms, wailing.

I pull her inside the apartment and just hold her while she shudders and huffs. Then starts the incomprehensible blabbering. I try as hard as I can to decipher it, but I can only make out a few words.

Something that sounds like “who does that?”, what I think is my son’s name, and a sound I believe is a cuss word.

All I can do is massage her back and the crying gradually lessens, until hiccups take over the shudders.

When she’s sufficiently calmed, I lead her to the couch and sit her there. I keep a box of Kleenex pretty much in every surface of my place, because either I start crying, or Katniss, or Johanna when she comes to visit.

I hand her the box of napkins, and she takes a fistful of them to blow her nose and wipe her cheeks.

She talks without prompting her, stopping at odd intervals so a stuttering sigh can pass through her full ripe lips.

“It’s not. Fair! Xander Cato just. Got home from” sniff “tour. To his fiancée. That stuck up bitch. Clove.” Another sniff. “She posted pictures. At the beach. Sipping some stupid. Fruity con-coction. ‘ _Virgin_ ’ because they’re. Trying for a _mini_. Cato.”

She says the last sentence in a mocking tone accompanied by air quotes.

“They’re not even. married yet!” She growls, “And what does it. Matter if you drink. Alcohol before you get. Knock up? She’s and. Idiot!”

Katniss swipes at her nose roughly. And her reddened gray eyes fix on mine.

“I know I told. Rye I didn’t. wanna get married. Or have children. Like… ever. But that should’ve been his life!” Her bottom lip quivers and a few tears fall inhibited down her pink cheeks.

“He could’ve. Met someone. More deserving than me. Someone willing to. Give him a family! Maybe if I had kept. My mouth shut. God wouldn’t have. Taken him. Away. Before we’ve. Had a chance!”

It’s a miracle she got it all out of her chest, or that I understood it all with her shuddering and sobbing.

I can feel myself getting worked up as well by her words.

Alexander Cato was in Rye’s year of High School. Cato enlisted in the army while Rye went to the Navy. They were friends and stayed in touch. Katniss and Clove were in the year below the boys but ran in different circles. On the one holiday the two couples coincided home, they had one double date. That’s their history of interactions. I’m not sure where did Katniss found out all this about the Catos.

I reassure her as best I can, while feeling the acute loss of a future my son will never have. A future I’ll never get to witness and be a part of.

“Katniss, it’s alright. You didn’t do anything to make God angry. It doesn’t work that way. And even if that was the case, it would’ve been me who God be punishing, not you and Rye.”

She’s not convinced, but she stops crying.

After a moment just sitting side by side in silence, she sighs.

“I’m sorry I came in here acting all crazy. I shouldn’t be bring this crap to you. You have your own stuff to deal with and now I added to your grief.”

“It’s okay—“

“No, is not.” She shakes her head stubbornly. She sighs again, “I have to go home. I have school in the morning. See you Saturday, Mr M.”

“You could stay you know.” I tell her sheepishly. “Johanna stays in the spare room all the time,”

“Oh, no… I’m just a couple of flights of stairs below. I’ll be fine. I can call you when I get in, if that makes you feel better.”

“Katniss, the truth is, I don’t want to be alone in this place right now. And honestly, I don’t think you should be alone either.”

She studies my face for a little while, chewing the inside of her cheek. She does that every time I pose a hard question to her, I’ve noticed.

“I don’t want to impose.”

“I’m inviting you.”

“But I’ll have to leave early,” she cocks her head the right.

“I’m a baker. Chances are I’ll be gone before you're awake. I’ll leave breakfast on the counter. You can just take the spare key in the left drawer and lock the door on your way out, then you can return the key when we meet for dinner this weekend.”

She’s still mulling it over. “Can breakfast be cheese buns?” She asks shyly.

“Deal.”

 

* * *

 

Katniss has nightmares. Lots of them. She had them the night she stayed over and confessed she’s suffered them ever since her father died when she was 11, but now Rye has joined her hunted dreams.

I told her I have them too, nightmares. I wake up in the middle of the night in cold sweats and paralyzed with a terrible fear that I’ll never see my son again, just to realize he’s gone forever, that I’ve lost him and I won’t be able to talk to him, hug him or hear his laughter ever again; but then I think of the people I still have in my life and things aren’t so scary anymore. Sure, the pain is still there as acute as ever, but I find it easier to breathe.

I start painting as well.

I used to do it when I was younger. She asks to see my paintings, and sniffles a little looking at the portraits of Rye as a little boy.

I didn’t show her the painting I go back to every night, the one I keep trying mixing different hues of gray for eyes I can’t quite capture. That one is somehow private, despite, or maybe, _because_ , she’s the subject of the piece. I’m not sure how I feel about this fixation I have with her lips and her dark, lustrous hair; how could I begin explaining it to her without creeping her out?

I do ask her to call me anytime she has a bad dream, sometimes talking about it helps too. If there’s one thing we have in common, is our love for Rye, and I will always honor that bond, day or night no matter the time.

To my surprise, she actually takes me up on the offer after that evening; we talk on the phone almost every night so she’s not afraid of going to bed, and even I sleep well after that.

 

* * *

 

One night, I’m the one knocking on her door as if a band of demons was chasing me down; she’s the angel that would sent them away.

She opens the door, and my greeting is a quivering, “The house sold.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. M.” She opens her arms, and I find shelter in her slender shoulders.

I’ve wanted to sell the house since Rye left on tour. I didn’t need all that room when I was living by myself- realistically speaking, Rye had flown the nest never to return- and though Rye had grown up in that house, the sentimental attachment didn’t hit until I handed over the keys to the new owners.

Never in a million years could I had thought, selling that house was going to feel like losing my son all over again.

Katniss lets me cry until I’m spent, the whole while she’s carding her fingers through my messy waves, and then I ask her for story, because I’m not ready to go back to my empty apartment.

She tells me about her sister’s nanny goat, Lady. She wants to distract me, so she tells me stuff that have nothing to do with Rye.

I stare at her, and the urge to kiss her is so strong, I force my mind to loop back to my son and the sold house.

We cry together. Eventually, we fall asleep in her couch, huddled closely to each other.

I allow myself a kiss to her forehead when I wake up at 4:30 a.m. thanks to my internal baker’s clock. She looks beautiful and peaceful.

I carry her to her bed, and then I watch her sleep just a minute. I wish I had met her under different circumstances. I wish she was older… I wish she didn’t belong to my boy.

And because of that last thought, I tear myself away from her and return to my depressing loneliness.

 

 

* * *

  

Our weekly supper becomes a bi-weekly event, and soon we are having meals together every other day. Being around her is so easy, so calming. We’ve develop a comforting friendship of sorts.

I think we’re drawn to each other by more than just our grief over Rye. We can talk about anything and everything for hours and, we found we laugh more, we live more, the more we talk. 

The day Johanna calls me just to chat, and I tell her, for the fifth time in two weeks, that I was in the middle of making dinner with Katniss, she makes a disapproving noise in the back of her throat.

“What?” I ask annoyed at her.

It takes her a minute, but she answers slowly, like she’s walking on eggshells.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time together.”

“So?” I wave at Katniss, who’s slicing a cucumber, letting her know I’m going to step into my room. “I know there’s something you want to say to me, so just come out with it.” I snap.

Jo takes a deep breath, as if bracing for a blow. “I think you should take some distance from the girl, Peeta. It’s all.”

“Why? Being around her makes me happy!” I tell her harshly.

“That’s exactly why!” She yells at me losing her patience. “She’s even younger than Rye was, and you’re not in your right mind at the moment. Nothing good will come of this. So before anyone gets hurt, badly, you should step away.”

Objectively speaking, Jo’s absolutely right, and I hate her for it, so I go on the defensive.

“Are you for real right now, Johanna?” I hiss. “I can’t believe, my best friend in the world will insinuate that I could do something so shitty…” I’m too choked up to continue.

“I’m not insinuating anything, Peeta. All I’m saying is that, some space will benefit everyone. You may heal faster on your own. Hasn’t it cross your mind you’re just using her as a crutch, and maybe she’s doing the same with you, it’s not healthy!”

“Sure, Johanna. Thanks for pointing out how I’m obviously incapable of see things on my own! I’ll call you later, after kicking out the only other person in the world that gets how I’m feeling, but hey, you know better than I do!”

“That's not fair! Nor is even remotely true! We all miss Rye! Me, or your dad and brothers, even your mother? We’re all here for you! And we understand—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence! You have no idea how I’m feeling! And where the hell are you guys right now? You say you’re here for me, but I sure as fuck don’t feel any of you hugging me every night when I cry my eyes out, screaming my only child’s name! None of you sing me back to sleep or simply make me a cup of tea to calm me down! None of you!” I’m yelling at the top of my lungs now.

“Peeta…” I hear the sadness and pity in her voice.

I hated the pity!

“No, Johanna! I don’t wanna talk right now! I may say something ugly I’ll regret later.”

I disconnect the call, turn off my phone and shuck it across the room where it bounces on the bed, and falls to the carpeted floor with a thud.

I sit on the edge of my bed, elbows on my knees and the heels of my hands pressing my wet eye sockets, hoping I can contain the rage I feel inside.

How dare she tell me who to lean on when she’s not here to pick up the pieces!

Cool fingers slide around my wrists, and gently pulls my hands from my face. She so quiet on her feet, I didn't hear her come in. I bury my face against her stomach, and sob like a small child.

She just cooes reassurances, while combing my hair back.

“I’m so tired, Katniss,” I managed to huff out.

“I know, Peeta.” She says soothingly. “Lay down, we need a nap. Supper can wait. I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s the first time she says my name, and all I can think of is how sweet it sounds on her tongue.

She lays next to me running her fingers through my hair, and I fall asleep while she sings a lullaby quietly into my ear. Is just as well, she’s the only one I need.

I try to banish the thought away, kernel of doubt planted by Jo. I’m not using Katniss as a crutch.  

 

* * *

 

I wake up with a start and relax right away.

Katniss is asleep next to me, facing me. My arm is slung over her middle.

I pull myself away from her when I realize how close I was to brushing her lips with mine.

An awful feeling twists my insides, and I have to throw up.

Johanna’s right. I need to put some distance between Katniss and I, but not for the reasons she thinks. 

Its even worse.

 

* * *

  

It’s Rye’s birthday.

Today is shit!

I didn’t get out of bed. My phone has been ringing forever and I keep ignoring it. I’m contemplating throwing it down the garbage shoot, but that means getting out of bed, out of the apartment and into the hallway near the elevator.

That’s way too close to the street. I’m staying in bed, waiting for the world to die.

My baby is gone. Why am I still here?

“Peeta!” Katniss whispers harshly when she pokes her head into my bedroom.

It’s all dark and muggy, since the curtains are drawn shut and I’m under my covers.

I haven’t seen her in over a week; I’m sure I should be feeling something now that she’s here, but there’s no room for feelings in me, only numbness.

“Peeta, are you there?” She demands in that nagging whisper that grinds my nerves.

“Go away, Katniss. I’m not in the mood.”

“Neither am I,” she answers curtly, stalking to the window to pull the curtains aside. “You weren’t picking up my calls! You didn’t answer Rue’s calls, you didn’t answer Pawpaw’s calls!” She chides.

I cringe a little. She has a knack for calling people the same thing Rye called them.

“I get that you’re depressed, Peeta. So am I. But so is your father, and you still need to let your staff know if you’re not showing up to work.”

She pulls my sheets down to my chin. And I feel a jolt when my bleary eyes meet her angry ones.

So pretty when she’s mad.

Great! Now I’m sad AND ashamed.

“You don’t have to be happy. No one expects you to be happy. You don’t even have to leave the apartment, but you need to shower, and put something in your tummy. I’m here to make sure you do so, even if I have to spoon feed you. So get on with it!” She orders.

I counter angrily. “And how are you enforcing my taking a shower? Are you planning to drag me into the bathroom and bathe me too? You aren’t very big, you couldn’t pick up my arm if I decided to become dead weight.” 

She blushes and hesitates for a moment but then tells me seriously.

“Will cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, I’m fixing you lunch. Please, at least wash your face and teeth, and don’t close the curtains again.”

Her voice softens, “After lunch, if you’re still sad you can take a nap, but if you don’t try to get up, then you’ll miss a chance to remember Rye for the great guy he was.”

I end up taking a very long shower, if you call standing under the hot waterfall motionless until the water turns icy cold and the pads of your fingers and toes turn pruny, a shower. 

I change into clean pajamas and sit under the covers of my bed, where Katniss lets me eat my lunch.

She makes soup from scratch, and is so delicious I polished off two whole bowls making Katniss look smug.

To be honest I kind of like seeing her that way, pleased with herself.

When I’m done, she lets me go back completely under the covers to conceal myself from the world. The only difference now, is the she settles next to me with her Macbook, quietly. She’s working on something for school.

I wish I had the decency to show interest, I know her graduation is approaching and she has tons of work to do before that.

“Tell me a story about him?” She requests meekly after a while.

I peek my head from under the corner of my comforter. Her computer is still on, on some document, but it’s just sitting forgotten on a pillow by her side instead of her lap. Her eyes are glazed over, fixed on a spot on the opposite wall.

“The day he was born, it rained cats and dogs from dawn to dusk. But there was a moment, when the nurse put him in my arms for the very first time, that the clouds outside parted, and in filtered a single sun ray, illuminating his wee little bald head. That was the moment my life changed for the better.

“One minute, I was a scared 17 year old wrestling champ, with no discernible life skills, and a newborn in his trembling hands. The next, I was a daddy, cradling the most precious gift a person could ever get, and that gift was so soft, with a tiny head covered in downy blond fuzz, softer than anything in the world… and his smell! He smelled like a million butterfly kisses waiting to be born, and love, and tenderness, and the color cute.

“I could never explain with words, how I knew everything was going to be alright. But with my Rye in my arms, nothing was scary anymore; not my mother, or my future, or the fact that Rye’s mother didn’t want anything to do with raising a child at 16 and a half.

“It was the first time I understood the meaning of love, and I swore to my baby, I would love him for always. I intend to keep my word.”

”Thats what I admire the most about you,” She said still lost in thought. But she doesn’t elaborate. 

I guess that’s enough for both of us. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title, from “Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allan Poe


	3. In her sepulchre there by the sea— In her tomb by the sounding sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is slightly longer than the previous two, and chock-full of angst. Tighten your seatbelts.
> 
> Enjoy the rollercoaster ride!

I’m a man. A very busy man. I don’t really have time to go out and meet any ladies, nor am I too eager to put effort into dating. I’m too sad and old for that; but I’m a hot blooded man anyway, with urges and needs. So, when I inevitably feel the itch, I scratch it with porn in the comfort of my bed, and I have a jolly good time all on my own.

But, I’m a creature of habit too. Over the years I’ve acquired a handful of go to movies I enjoy. Redheads have done it for me since Rye’s mother, so I stick with them.

I’m in the middle of my thing when my phone rings. I should have turned it off, but I was too keyed up for that. What I truly should do, is ignore it, but I look anyway mid pump, and her smiling face flashes up at me.

I cum hard, instantly.

The guilt and self loathing about finding release at the image of Katniss’ unsuspecting, smiley face, instead of the busty bombshell pleasuring herself in my  flat screen TV will hit me much, much, later. Right now I’m too confused and high on my euphoric orgasm, I fucking answer the call guilelessly, like a zombie, which I shouldn’t be doing, since I’m in no shape to be on the phone with anyone, let alone Katniss Everdeen.

Her voice is so sweet, melodic and tentalizing, my cock strains spluttering  one last tiny bit of jizz.

My breath hitches, and I make an involuntary noise when it happens. I’m not so far gone to not realize how inappropriate that is, so I pretend cough to cover it.

She stays quiet for a second, but then says cautiously, “I’m 5 minutes away from the apartment. I have leftover lasagna. Could I come up for dinner?”

I should say no. I’m in no condition to host a leftover dinner party tonight, but it isn’t until after I answer that horror strikes me.

“Could you cum?” I repeat in a fog, “Yeah, that sounds nice. Lasagna is nice too.”

I hang up realizing how cold my load feels on my hand and stomach.

 _Fuck_! I only have a few minutes before she cums—COMES!— before she _comes_ to my place for supper!

As fast as my post orgasmic sluggish body allows me, I take an icy cold shower, mortified and scared. Pull off my sheets and leave the bed undone for now. I’ll deal with it later.

I’m dressed and out of the bedroom just in time.

She usually just walks in, but today she rings the bell, I’m not sure if it’s to make sure I’m decent or because her arms are so full of food.

Katniss is an excellent cook when she wants to be. She could be on Chopped-and-win good, making a meal from scratch with whatever is the pantry, but she truly dislikes cooking. She thinks that learning to cook out of necessity, and not for the love of the art of preparing delicious food, ruined it for her; though, she loves food more than anyone I know.

I’m not that surprised to see 7 different  leftover containers on the breakfast bar, I’m surprised about the bottle of champagne and box of chocolate covered strawberries she practically slams on the counter next to the sink.

The look she gives them can only be described as disdainful. I wonder how those things offended her?

We pull stuff from my fridge as well, though I don’t have a whole lot to contribute to the spread tonight.

Katniss goes around plating odd servings of food, then nukes the dish in the microwave and sits it in front of me when everything is stemming, then she repeats the process for herself.

That’s another thing I can’t get over about her. She has to be the one serving the food and she feeds herself last, every time! Unless it’s second helpings, of course, then is everyone for themselves.

She’s always so careful measuring what she puts in plates, making sure everyone gets a fair share; my chest tightens for her. I’ve inferred just by comments here and there that this is in fact, another by product of learning by necessity from her difficult childhood, during the hard times that followed after her father’s death; Katniss had to make sure everyone ate something, and though the lean days are gone now, the habit persists. 

I had a rough time when Rye was born, but that only lasted until my mother met the baby by chance once.

It was instant love. Something my brothers and I had to fight for all of our young life, she gave to Rye freely. After holding the little tyke in her arms for a minute, my mother’s hardened soul was turn to mush, and even her outlook on life transformed overnight.

I was taken back into my dad’s bakery, and for the first time ever, they were paying me an actual salary.

My son never knew hunger, but Katniss did, it breaks my heart.

She’s uncommonly taciturn tonight. I’m afraid to ask why, because I’m pretty sure she knows what she caught me doing earlier, and I really don’t want to face that right now. I know I’ll have to do it soon, but I’m not ready just yet.

I see little flashes of anger in her eyes and body posture. I’m not sure I could keep ignoring her growing bad mood, but she blurts out a clue soon enough without me intervening.

“Champagne?”

I look at her, over my bite of cold lamb stew and plums she cooks at least once a month.

“Mmm, sure?” I don’t think she’s very happy with the wine list tonight.

She goes around opening the bottle, and somehow I’ve never heard a most ominous pop. The sound usually means celebration and good times, but she’s exuding so much anger against the bottle the air is dripping with it.

She pours the bubbly drink in plastic flutes she brought herself, and puts one in front of my plate so delicately, I’m afraid is going to explode if I make a sudden move.

She twirls hers in her hand, arms crossed over her chest, right before tossing the pack of strawberries between us. She looks absolutely rageful.

She downs her glass in one gulp, slams the flute on the counter and stares at me while refilling her champagne.

“You’re not gonna ask me, what’s the occasion?” She poses disgruntled, she throws back her second serving in the same manner as her previous.

“To be honest, I’m afraid to ask.” I say observing her carefully.

She points a finger at me, “You,” she reaches for the bottle to fill an empty mug, discarding the champagne glass entirely, and continues, “are a smart man!” She downs that one too. “Been saving this since that awful night, actually. Strawberries maybe a bit funky now, they’d been stuck in the freezer forever, but hey! Leftover night!” She cheers sarcastically. “More?” She offers the bottle to me.

I shake my head, and watch her wearily, as she shrugs and refills her mug.

“It’s my third year anniversary with Rye, today. He wore me down, you know. I tried to resist ‘im, but Rye was like a dog with a bone! And the boy was as sweet as pie! Not a nasty bone in his body, my Rye. I miss ‘im.”

I’m amazed at how thick her Appalachian accent becomes. She’s always had traces of it in her cadence of course, but it’s never been this heavy. Right now, she could just be hailing down the mountain for all I know.

“Oooh, and how beautiful them bones wer’!” She tips the mug back and swallows the wine as if it was water.

“Don’t know a single girl in Panem who didn’t wanna jump my Rye’s gorgeous bones; what with his hard muscles, and crooked smile, that manly chiseled jaw that could cut glass, and the smattering of them cute little freckles on the bridge of his nose! Ooh-eeeh! That boy was hotter than Mr. Hawthorne’s 5 alarm chili sauce!” She fans herself with her hand.

I’m not sure how I feel about our current situation, on the one hand, it feels weird to hear someone talk about my baby boy in such sensual tones, but on the other hand I’m kind of proud on his behalf.

But Katniss is expressing her attraction to her boyfriend who she was devoted to, which chunrs some problematic feelings in me I try to stomp on; the budding jealousy spreading through my chest is proving to be hard to ignore, and the need to compare to myself to my own son, is making me a bit sick. 

Her sniffling reminds me, Katniss is in the middle of her grieving process, and my feelings have no room here, so I clamp down my response and listen to her go on about Rye.

“I miss his clear blue eyes the most. Too bad yours don’t look the same,” she says staring at me, “yours are darker, deeper, more experienced…” she trails off lowly, her own eyes darken looking at me, but then she takes another drink and shrugs. “His hair was more reddish and darker than yours too. Maybe is for the best, otherwise I couldn’t look you in the eye. It be like watching a mature replica of his, and I wouldn’t be able to stand it.”

She tips the mug back and quickly squints into it making a face. “Empty again… da fuck? Where my booze go?” 

I feel my eyebrows shoot up into my hairline. It’s the very first time I’ve ever heard her use an impolite word in all the time I’ve known her.

“No biggie, there’s still loads of the throat ticklin’ juice right ‘ere!”

She completely bypasses a cup now, taking a generous pull straight from the bottle.

That’s my cue to cut her off, but she pushes me away and swallows as much alcohol as she can before I wrestle the bottle from her hands. She managed to ingest three quarters of the champagne, minus what’s in my own glass.

”Hey! What gives, Peeta?! Gimme back my bubbles!” 

She’s beyond tipsy.

Too much drink too fast in such a tiny body.

Her eyes are glassy, bloodshot. She slides off the stool trying to reach the bottle from my outstretched arm, and I catch her just in time.

“Oops... almost fell,” She’s giggling uncontrollably.

“If you cannot drink like a responsible adult, then I can’t let you have that bottle back.” I say sternly. “We can’t afford becoming drunkards, especially you, Katniss.”

I dump the rest of the champagne down the drain for good measure, but she keeps slipping from my grasp, so I pick her up in my arms and bring her to the couch.

Her arms circle my neck and her nose nuzzles right under my jaw. She inhales deeply.

“You smell yummy.” She mumbles, “Like cinnamon and dill and... _man_.” She lays her head on my shoulder.

The way the word ‘man’ comes out of her mouth, goes straight to my cock and the effect is instantaneous. I’m fighting tooth and nail against my own bodily urges, because this feeling is so wrong and inappropriate particularly right this second, but it’s no use when she keeps talking so sultry into the crook of my neck.

“You’re gorgeous too, you know. Ev’ry girl in my class wanted to bang you. What’s hotter than a single cougar dad? is that a real a thing? A cougar dad? Anyway, yeah… all them girls giggling and batting their lashes at you every time you came to one of Rye’s things at school, they kept saying they’d wished you’d take ‘em behind the bleachers. ‘Cause you'd probably show them some _moves_.”

The last word comes out raspy and sexy as fuck. I have to clamp shut my eyes and breathe deeply once to get myself under control.

“I-I-I don’t- I don’t... Katniss. I don’t think this is an appropriate conversation.” I stammer quietly. 

I place her in the cushions, and pry her arms off my neck as gently as I can.

She pouts. “Why? We’re adults! We can talk about banging! I’ve fucked!”

“Katniss, that’s enough.” I say half heartedly.

She ignores me, and her spiel gets increasingly worse to hear.

“Did you know Rye was in fact, on his way to come fuck me that night?” Her hazy gray eyes find me, and I’m taken aback by the pain and hurt I find there.

She nods at my head shake. I want to tell her that this is her private business, she shouldn’t be telling me this, but she flops on the couch and stairs at the ceiling, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks.

“We’ve planned it for weeks. I had bought a box of all size condoms just to be sure. I’m not romantically inclined, but I had the apartment full of candles and shit, I had to bring out my fire extinguisher just in case.” She chuckles mirthlessly. “I was so horny... _I_ was the fire hazard, not the ambience flames.”

She sighs. “Leading to his holiday leave, all Rye and I talked about was how much sex we were gonna have that day.” She looks me in the eye, her gaze tortured. “You know how people say, ‘sailors have a girl in every port’?” she singsongs the phrase, then shakes her head emphatically, “Not him. Not my Rye. He was saving himself for me. And I was saving myself for him. We’d waited so fucking long.” She chokes, “It was supposed to be magical!”

She starts sobbing quietly coiling into a ball on the cushions of my couch. I mistakenly think she’s done talking, but she tucks her legs tightly under chin, hugging her arms around them for dear life, and the rest of her words pour out like a fountain.

“The worst part of having your boyfriend’s daddy call to inform you, your date is detained in the hospital morgue, is receiving the call while you’re only wearing brand new lingerie and strappy kitten pumps.” She coughs, “That’s just humiliating.”

Her breath stutters, “I scoured the internet like a fiend for that stupid teddy, but I finally found one in his favorite color. It was more expensive than I expected, but I didn’t care! I worked extra shifts at the Dinner to pay for it, because I thought he’d lose his shit once he saw me in it, and he was worth it. Now, the lacy thing is somewhere in the city landfill, with all the expectations of that night.”

She covers her mouth with her hand and screams. “He deserved to get laid!

“How sick is that a fucking sailor didn’t get laid? I waited for him! I got all spruced up for him; I got a brazilian done for the occasion,” she turns to look at me, rage dancing in her eyes. “You know how much that shit hurt? It hurt a lot! And he didn’t get to see it! That’s bullshit! It’s all a big pile of bullshit! I want my night back! I want my boyfriend back! I wanted to be fucked by Rye! Why can’t I have him? Why?... why?”

She’s trembling, coughing and sobbing uncontrollably. I gather her in my arms and rock her back and forth, all the while whispering apologies into her forehead while weeping quietly at the same time.

“I don’t know baby, I don’t get it myself. I’m sorry your night got ruined. I’m sorry both of you got robbed your love and happiness. I wish he has here too. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

She cries herself to sleep in my arms, and all I can do is hold her, but I lay her down in the couch after a while, and just watch her sleep. She looks so sweet and young and peaceful, regardless of how splotchy her face is. All I want to do is protect her from the world.

I go into my bedroom and dress my bed, then I take her boots off and carry her into my room. I want her in my arms tonight. She was robbed of Rye, but she still has me, I don’t even care if that's right or wrong, she needs me and I’m here for her.

Her eyes flutter open for a second, as I’m depositing her on the mattress. She clings to my hand, laying her cheek on it.

“Stay with me, until I fall asleep?”

I nod, breathing out “Always.”

I tuck her in tightly and get in bed fully clothed next to her.

I see the appeal of saving oneself for the one you love. It’s sweet and pure, like Rye and Katniss.

I wish I could say Rye got his principles from me, but it takes me only a week before _the itch_ stalks me again, and I give in.

This time I watch brunettes in my screen. Redheads don’t do it for me anymore.

I tell myself it’s not because of her, but who am I kidding? It _is all_ because of her.

I want her. So much.

It’s tearing me up inside.

 

* * *

 

I press the call button but chicken out after the first ring and hang up, tossing the phone on the couch next to me and putting a cushion on top of it for good measure.

My childish fix doesn’t help one bit. The phone rings under the cushion all the same, because stupid smartphones are snitches.

I miss the 80’s, when the most technologically advanced phone was a wireless wall unit with speed dial.

“Hello?” I answer, pretending to yawn. I’m not sure what does that help.

“Hey! Were you trying to call me?” She asks.

There’s something about hearing her voice, that makes my heart stutter.

Suddenly I want to see her. Badly.

“Rye’s headstone is ready.”

There’s a pause on the other side of the line.

“I’m coming over.” She says determinedly.

I hear some shuffling, her breathing pattern fluctuating while she does who-knows-what. Then she asks if I need anything, if I’m okay. But I only make some nonverbal noises in response. I just want her here.

I’m about to tell her I’m going to put the phone down, we can talk when she arrives, but I hear the unmistakable turn of a key in my front door, and when I look up, there she is, beautiful Katniss Everdeen, walking into my apartment like she owns the place.

Her hair is down, I’ve only ever seen it down a handful of times, but it’s the first time I feel the urge to run my fingers through it’s length. Pull on it a little. See what sounds she’ll produce when I do so.

My groin area grows warm and tight, and for a moment I lose myself in this devious reaction to her. This primitive hunger unfurling in my core, all consuming and blinding to the rest of the world. I hear nothing, smell nothing, taste nothing but the scent of her. I watch her with sicken glee as she hurries towards me. I twitch excitedly when she drops in the couch next to me, willing her to just come closer.

_Yes pretty girl, come closer, put your sweet little arms around me, so I can… so I can… so I can…_

The scary voice of the mutt inside me, gets fainter the longer I repeat the last three words.

So I can… _Do what?_

 _‘So I can do what?’_ I demand mentally at myself.

“Peeta!” She squeezes my hand, breaking the cursed spell.

I look up terrified. I tear my hand out of hers as if her fingers had burned my skin.

She retracts her hand and her face turns scarlet in embarrassment, but when my eyes can’t focus on anything, her gaze fills with concern.

“Hey, where did you go just now? Are you okay? I’m here.” She tells me soothingly, chancing a pass of her hand over my shoulder.

I have the feeling she’s been trying to get me out of it for a while. Maybe I was lost in my own head for longer than I thought. I wish I could tell her I’m fine, but the truth is, I’m shaky.

I don’t know what exactly just came over me. I felt like the wolf, disguised as harmless and salivating for Red Riding Hood's tender flesh. I feel predatory. Dirty. Despicable.

I start crying. It’s all I can do to release this darkness inside.

I’m furious with myself when she mistakes my odd behavior as grief, and pulls me down to lay my head on her lap as the rest of my body curls into itself. I should ask her to leave, I should tell her I may turn into a beast and devour her whole, but I refuse to deprive myself from her touch; because I’m selfish, because I’m disturbed in the head, because I’m a fucked up, lonely failure, in love with his son’s girl.

Somewhere, deep down, I’ve always known I a was goner for the girl with the inky black hair and shiny gray eyes that weeps at night for my son, and I hate myself for being weak, perverted and a bad father.

The worst part, is that I can’t make myself want to stop falling for her.

 

* * *

 

Rye’s headstone gets placed on his grave on a Thursday mid morning. It’s cold and windy out, though the sun is shining.

I guess is just the weather letting me know things start to look up slowly with time. I just wonder how slowly and how much time will it be before I don’t feel this empty whole the size of Rye I’m carrying in my heart.

I’m surprisingly calm through the whole event. It just feels like it’s the end of the story. _He’s gone then, for real_. Nothing will bring him back and his name glaring at me in that fucking rock is the proof.

My father is bawling though. My mother can’t even look at the stone, it’s as if it hurts her just glancing at it.

The cynical side of me rejoices that finally something has forced her to show she actually gives a damn. While  my vindictive side wants to scream at her, tell her she’s a hypocritical bitch, who tossed me out on my ass when I told her I was raising the baby on my own.

 _“If you think you’re big enough to ruin your life at your age, then you must be big enough to be on your own.”_ Those words, out of my lovely mother’s mouth, will be forever etched in my mind.

At the end, after everything was said and done, it turns out my mother loved Rye more than anyone could’ve imagined. She doted on him, pampered him and even cried with him the very few times I had to discipline him.

Grand babies have that effect on people. They make the most unfeeling individuals softer, loving and sweet.

I’ll never know what loving your child’s child would feel like. My hopes for grandchildren are buried with Rye.

As if in autopilot, my eyes find Katniss and I stare at her, scanning her navy blue peacoat clad form from head to toe.

Beautifully sculpted legs asides, my eyes hone in on her middle and stare at the place my hypothetical grand babies should’ve bloom and be given life.

Katniss is free to find someone else to fill her belly with children... if she ever changes her mind that is. She’s said she doesn’t want them more than once, but I've seen her interacting with my nephews, for someone so adamant about not wanting babies, she surely enjoys hanging around them. In fact, she’s amazing with kids.

A possessive thought sinks it’s claws in my mind. Her womb should be filled with Mellarks, not some faceless schmuck threatening my legacy. But Rye is dead, really gone. Who’s stopping her from falling in love with someone else, marrying them, have children, being happy with a family of her own, where I have no place in?

Now I’m angry at Rye for dying.

He left me alone. He took my potential family with him into his grave.

Katniss gives me a smile that boarders in grimace, then wanders off after paying her respects to Rye. Her mother and sister trail after her like a family of ducklings.

When you see the three of them  together, is clear who the head of the Everdeen household really is.

Prim came to the cemetery with two small bouquets. One she placed against the polished, new headstone of one Rye Joshua Mellark, the other, I see her place in a vial on the mausoleum where ashes are put to rest.

Something tells me that if I came snooping around, I’d catch a glimpse of Mr. Everdeen’s last resting place.

“Bread Boy, when are you heading home?” Jo startles me, when she sidles up closer on my left.

I turn to look at her, but she’s staring at the Everdeen’s in the distance.

“As soon as she’s done,” I gesture to the Everdeens vaguely. Jo frowns, so as way of explanation I inform her, “She came here with me.”

Jo gives me a disapproving stare that I ignore. After a while she simply sighs.

“That was ballsy of you. Stealing and rewording _Annabel Lee._ ” She says in reference to a line I commissioned to be etched at the bottom of the headstone.

She entones,  
“ _Wingèd seraphs of Heaven_  
_Coveted him._  
_And this was the reason that,_  
_In this kingdom by the sea,_  
_A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling_  
_My beautiful Navy seaman.”_

I glare at her for a moment.

“I thought Rye hated Poe.” She adds flicking her fingernails, and old habit of hers. It means she’s holding back.

“He still knew it by heart.” I deadpan.

“Because it was your favorite! You used to bored him to tears with it. How come you’re still trying to shove it down the poor kid’s throat?”

All gloves are off now.

“Because of her!” I point in the direction of Katniss, hissing and whispering harshly. “She loves Poe! and then he did too! I just didn’t know it until the wake, when she pretty much gushed about how they bonded over it.

“Then, a few weeks later, she shows me some of his letters; he wrote the most beautiful poetry I’ve ever read, and he was fucking amazing, Jo. The kid had a natural talent with words we never knew about, because he squandered it away!”

I’m so angry at Rye right now, I could scream. 

But I guess the joke’s one me, Rye is ‘grounded’ for eternity, and there’s nothing I can do about it, but feel this sensation of unfinished business that will never have closure.

I’m also jealous. I feel like my son hid something precious of his we could’ve have in common, bond over probably, cultivated it, instead, he shared it with someone else trying to impressed them. I feel like he kept part of him from me, and that just hurts deeply. 

It confuses my already scrambled feelings towards Katniss; for the first time, I resent her conection and close relationship with my boy. Rye was mine first, and she came along to split his love away. 

I paw off an angry tear from my eye, “He credited me for his love of dark poetry.” I say bitterly. “Apparently, lying to his girlfriend about how he adored her favorite author, instead of telling her he felt indifferent about it, was what got him into her pants. I don’t know, Johanna. It was Katniss’ idea to include Annabel Lee, since according to her, it was Rye’s favorite poem.”

Johanna’s face remains hard the whole while.

“Did it occurred to you, that maybe your son did like your pal Eddie after all?” Johanna poses. “Obviously he was into emo chicks I find hard to swallow.” She says flicking her wide-set brown eyes on Katniss, who really isn’t eso at all.

She softens her tone minimally. “But the real question here is, why is all this bothering you so flipping much? You were his dad, Peeta. He loved you. but he was his own person too. He didn’t  have to show you his love poems.

“And honestly, I find it a bit on the  privacy betrayal side on Katniss’ part, showing you something her boyfriend wrote for her, if he never gave her permission to share it.”

I can feel the rage gather into a tumultuous storm in my chest. 

“What the fuck are you talking about? What privacy? Rye has no privacy anymore, he’s dead. Buried! I just saw the undertakers put a stone with his name on the lot I paid for to put him to rest.

“Plus is not like Katniss is publishing a book for financial gain at the expense of Rye’s intellectual property. She’s showing a bunch of -often- silly letters a boy wrote his sweetheart durging her senior year of high school. Those are hers to do with as she wants, and neither you, nor I have any right to criticize.”

Jo stares at me through slited eyes and her fists on her hips. 

”Wow,” she says in mock awe and disbelief. “This time around you’re actually being more obtusely boneheaded, aren’t you?” 

“ _Again_ ,” I stress, “What the actual fuck are you talking about, Johanna?

She shakes her head in disappointment, and starts walking away from me.

I can’t say I’m sorry about it.

She tosses over her shoulder while heading towards my dad and brothers. “Tell me when you get your head out of your ass. I’ll be here, waiting with tequila, seeing as you refuse to listen to reason.” 

The final score today is: mad at Rye, and Johanna too!

Feeling like chump!

 

* * *

 

On the ride back home is quiet, but comfortable.

Our hands keep brushing against the other over the center console the entire ride, and I don’t think it’s accidental on either of our sides.

We stop at a semi casual restaurant on our way home, because we are not ready to face our new reality, after Rye, just yet.

He’s gone forever, and nothing is going to bring him back. That’s just fact. The world keeps rotating and time keeps ticking. I’ve decided I want to believe in Heaven and afterlife, maybe if I hold on to the promise I’ll be seeing my son later, the pain will lessen.

Meanwhile, my hands keep finding Katniss of their own accord. My fingers brush her waist, the small of her back, the end of her braid, her arms. Anything I can reach.

She on the other hand, seems content with my proximity, leaning into me, holding on to my arm when we walk, and when we’re finally seated, the touches just get bolder. At one point, my forearm rests on the length of thigh and my hand curls around her knee, while we play thumb war on the table with our free hands.

The waiter refills our glasses, and wishes us to enjoy the rest of our date; for a moment I go into panic mode, expecting her to react offended or angry, but she smiles brightly- pleased, even- and thanks him graciously.

My hand takes hers tentatively, while I deliberately stare into her eyes to gauge her reaction or ask permission, I’m not sure which; she smiles at me sweetly and entwines her fingers with mine. We hold hands the rest of our meal, all the way through the parking lot to the car, and all the way up to my place when we arrive at our building.

She’s spending  the night in the spare room Jo hasn’t stayed in for 7 weeks in a row. I’ve been counting.

We change out of our nice clothes, and though I miss seeing her in a dress and heels, I like her in her yoga pants even more. She’s not bodacious, but she is a breathing, living piece of fine art and my eyes get lost caressing her every curve and dip.

I’m in basketball shorts and a plain white t-shirt with my sock clad feet on the coffee table, watching Impractical Jokers. We’re being cozy for the rest of the evening.

Katniss plops sideways next me, then scoots closer so her whole back is resting against my right side from our hips up. My arm goes around her automatically and settles deeply into my side and sighs contented.

This closeness feels natural, right, comfortable. Domestic. 

She’s reading some book, only glancing at the tv when I’m laughing very hard. During a commercial break, she asks if I’d like a drink or a snack.

I look at her startled for a second, she peers at me expectantly, waiting for my answer. I’m not used to anyone catering to me this way, not even as a child. A million thoughts run wildly in my head, a pipe dream where I feel her car’s tank with gas on Sundays so it’s ready for her busy week the next day, her offering to to do bank runs so I can take a break from our business, me giving her back and feet rubs after a long tiring day, she having supper ready when I come home from work... I’m choked up with the emotion of all the things that I wish for with her. 

I finally nod, not having any other way to answer without breaking into tears. She kisses my cheek, patting my chest, smiling all the while and then scurries into kitchen.

She comes back with a bottle of Mike’s and a bowl of microwaved popcorn, then resumes her place up against my body.

“What about you?” I ask curiously.

“What about me?” She questions not looking up from her book, twirling the end of her braid around her fingers.

“You don’t want a snack?” I ask her, squeezing her side a little.

She makes a face, “We’re sharing!” She looks at me with a ‘duh’ expression that simply shuts me up.

I chuckle a little and pull on her braid trying to be playful, “Why do girls sit like that all the time?”

“Like what?” She turns her head to look at me.

“Crisscrossed applesauce.” I point at her legs. “It doesn’t matter where you guys sit, your legs always go like a pretzel under yourselves.”

She looks at me under her lashes for a second, and shrugs.

“Is comfortable.”

“How? I’ve seen girls sit on the bakery chairs that way. It looks painful as hell.”

“Don’t know what to tell you, Peeta. I’ve never thought about it.”

“Yeah, but… isn’t it weird that every. Single. Girl. Does it? Hell, Jo sits that way!”

“Then why don’t you ask Johanna about it?” She snaps aggravated.

Well, I didn’t expect this vipery response.

Girls do stuff like that regarding other girls too. They get catty.

She goes back to her book moodily.

I simply hug her. Rye’s mother used to have this same reaction to Jo. A hug usually mollified her, and since Katniss’ scowl starts to relax in my embrace, I think I’ve succeeded, so I also go back to watch the TV, satisfied I’ve averted a potentially cataclysmic argument.

Turns out, I’m not the ‘Girl Behavioral Expert’ I deluded myself into thinking I am. 

“Why does Johanna hate me?” Katniss asks casually after a while.

I turn the volume of my show down and give her my undivided attention, though her nose is firmly planted in the book I realize with a jolt, is one from the box I gave her a few months ago.

Girls also like to seem casual about things that truly bother them. I remember that from Rye’s mom as well.

“She doesn’t hate you.” I say softly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “That’s a very strong word.”

“Could’ve fool me.” She sasses under her breath.

She doesn’t say anything further, and I wait a minute longer just in case, but I go back to my show since she’s yet to stop reading.

Ten minutes later, she adds. “I don’t like her either. So I guess we’re even.”

”That’s fine. Some people aren’t meant to like each other.” I tell her sweetly, massaging her skull.

The truth is that neither has to like the other. I like them both and that’s what matters, but I know for a fact that saying this out loud, will just make her angry enough to leave, and I don’t want her to leave, so I keep my mouth shut.

She leans her head on my shoulder a few minutes later, and without thinking about it, I place a kiss on the top of her head and rest my cheek on it.

“How come you didn’t tell me this books were all yours? I was bound to figure it out at some point. You’ve scribble on most of the margins. Which isn’t entirely kosher, you know.” She chastises me, but soon her frown smooths out and she says in a less serious tone.

”Graffitiing and  defacing books! I didn’t peg you for a wild troublemaker, mister!” She giggles quietly.

I chuckle, dropping another kiss to the crown of her head, “Who owned the books wasn’t important at the time. It still isn’t. Sorry if my notes bothered you.”

“I wasn’t bothered. I’m just telling you that other people would find that off putting.” She snuggles into me. “Not me though. I like my acquaintances live dangerously... to walk on the faint line between right and wrong.” She smirks at her own joke. 

I thighten my hold on her, squeezing her to my chest, then whisper into her lowly, “I’ve walk the line my whole life, always tethered to the right side, but I’ll go completely rogue if that’s what you want.” 

She doesn’t say anything for a bit. Just sits there, breathing slowly. Then she turns her head so her lips brush against my cheeks ever so slightly.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

I caress her hip, but something snaps in her eyes, and she adds lightly, I think trying to turn the heated moment into a harmless joke. 

“If I ever want to rob a bank!”

We both share an awkward laugh, and I losen my hold on her. 

After a moment of silence, she says.

“Rye told me once he felt like you were more involved in our relationship than he was.” She shifts. “He was joking of course, but he said that he didn’t mind it as long as we kept the geeky to ourselves when he was around.”

She closes the book and lowers it to her lap, her face finds the crook of my neck, but she doesn’t stay there long.

She sits up.

“You know what I thought about today?” She won’t look at me.

I shake my head and hum a negative answer, my hand is still resting on her hip, willingly her to sit back as she was, but I realize this closeness we just allowed ourselves is not okay with her. Maybe is too soon. Maybe she’s not ready to let anyone else take his place, and I’m oddly glad with that.

“I thought, that now that he’s officially gone, we don’t have to hide ourselves anymore.”

She turns to me, tears filling hers eyes.

“Does that make me a bad person?”

She doesn’t let me answer. She’s up and inside the spare bedroom in the blink of an eye. She cries the rest of the night, locked behind the door. I just sit on the floor with my back to her wall and let her say her final goodbyes.

What she needs from me right now is space.

Space and peace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from/and Re-worded excerpt of the poem “Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allan Poe.


	4. Awaken My heart to Joy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter than the rest, because it’s May 8th and certain birthday girl will get some... birthday cake... ;) 
> 
> Happy birthday Katniss!!!!
> 
>  
> 
> Smut ahead ;) 
> 
> Enjoy.

It’s May 8th, Katniss’ 22nd birthday.

She warned me to not even _think_ of congratulating her, so naturally, I took the day off to surprise her with a birthday meal! 

She’s going to see her sister and mother this weekend back home in Panem, but I couldn’t just ignore what today represents, so I left the shop in my store manager, Rue’s, capable hands, to celebrate my favorite birthday girl. 

Rue and Katniss met a couple of years ago at the bakery and hit it off despite their slight age difference. They speak a language of their own those two, and though I knew of Katniss’ birthday because of Rye, it was Rue who insisted  I did something “low key” today.

At 6:15 I rap on Katniss’ door, and rock on the ball of my feet holding a tiny bouquet of wild onions and katniss plants (blooms, stems and root tubers!) behind my back.

She scowls at me as soon as she opens the door.

“Wipe that silly grin off your face, Peeta. I’m warning you, I don’t do birthdays.”

“Come on!” I cajole stepping into her apartment when she stomps back in. “You don't even know what I’m here for!”

She just glares at me, and my smile widens. I stick the flowers out and inch from her nose, unable to say any of the words I had practiced on my way down to her floor.

Instead, I just say, “I’m taking you up!”

She’s staring at my flowers, still not taking them from my hand, but her eyes are as big as silver dollars.

“Where did you get these?” She asks in awe caressing a petal of a katniss flower.

“Garden on the roof,” I say nonchalantly.

“What? That’s impossible!”

“Not really. There’s a bunch of the things up there. If you wanna see it, then put on some shoes and I’ll show you.” I tell her easily.

“I’m in my pajamas!” She protests.

“So? I think you look cute. Plus nobody goes up there anyway.”

We’re out the apartment door and in the elevator in a heartbeat. She’s exuding excitement and it’s contagious. When we step in the 13th floor, there’s a flight of stairs we have to climb and then we’re on the roof of the building.

Her mouth drops open in astonishment when she sees the sea of wild flowers all over planters in every inch of the roof, and in the very middle, there’s a picnic set up with a tiny cake simply decorated with a handful of katniss flowers.

“Where did all this come from?” She whispers amazed.

Her hand glides over the cheerful blooms closest to her.

“Well, technically, they all came from Panem.” I say simply.

“How?” She faces me demanding my answers.

“I had your sister’s boyfriend find them for a fee, and then I just transplanted them here.” I say trying to shove down the ever increasing anxiety I’m feeling. “The _duck potatoes_ were the hardest ones to get to take… you cannot  recreate their habitat without water.”

Her eyes snap to me dangerously. “What kind of fee did you pay?”

“Monetary kind.”

“How big of a fee? Because this plants are weeds from the woods back home, and if Rory dared to rip you off—“

“Katniss! Can you for once, just enjoy something nice some has done for you? Let someone else worry about costs every now and then!”

Her eyes soften. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” she gestures around us.

”I see why your folks named you after such difficult but nutrient plant.” I tease her with a grin.

She scowls. “I’m not difficult!” She grouches. “Just concerned.”

“Just say you like the flowers, and that you’re hungry, and we’re even,” I smile at her.

She smiles back, albeit reluctantly, and nods.

15 minutes later, we’re both wearing crowns of dandelions she weaved for us and dipping cheese buns in hot chocolate, while the small plain vanilla cake has disappeared in its entirety, except for the topper. The evening air up here is comfortable and refreshing, and I think she’s forgotten to be mad at me for having this ‘impromptu’ birthday picnic. 

Somehow, her head is resting on my lap, while play with the end of her loose braid, asks sleepily.

“How did you come up with this idea?”

“You said you wanted to go home.”

She peers up at me, but I continue talking.

”I know you’re going to say you’ll be in Panem Friday evening, but hear me out. When you talked about your favorite birthday being out in the woods with your father, gathering wild onions, and katniss tubers, and mint leaves… that’s what I figured you meant by _home_.

“I wanted you have that memory back, but I’m not your father, I’ve never set foot in woods in my life. I know how to tend a garden though, and I figured the city needed more pretty wildflowers, like yourself.”

My eyes scan her face. I don’t miss the blush that takes over her pretty features, nor the way her breathing picks up, or the adoration that seems to emanate from her sparkling gray eyes. I’ve seen that look in her eyes before. It used to be directed at my son, now she’s giving it to me, but shyly. 

My breath catches at the implication.

She sits up slowly, resting her weight on her left hand and fiddling with the length of braid that slipped from my fingers.

“Peeta…” she sighs my name, and I swear I’ll never forget the effect that sound had over my body and soul. Her eyes search mine, imploringly. “Why are you so nice to me?”

I stare at her for a moment, the words that come out of my mouth, escape without my consent.

“You know why.”

“Do I?” Her voice is breathy, and dances away with the swift breeze.

“You have no idea. The effect you can have.” my voice trails just like hers.

I don’t think she meant to speak the words. Her lips barely moved, but I heard them all the same, ethereal and smoky, here a moment and gone the next, “Kiss me?”

And who am I to deny her anything?

In the blink of an eye, I lean forward and pull her lower lip inside my mouth. I release it after a quick taste to kiss her properly, and my hands move in to trap her face and pull her closer to me. Her hands take hold of my wrist and she just sighs contentedly against my lips.

In a matter of seconds, she’s migrated to my lap, causing the sweet kisses to turn into a straight up makeout session. Things just escalate from there without any kind of brake. We are free falling, and neither of us cares.

My lips and tongue seek her skin hungrily and she’s just too happy to oblige dipping her head back, granting me access to her graceful neck.

Is an unseasonably warm evening, so we’re both wearing shorts; hers are a flimsy material that matches her tank top. I’m taking complete advantage of her skimpy sleep clothes, but the way she hums approvingly just eggs me on. My hands caress the supple olive skin of her shapely legs all the way from her ankles, to her thighs.

My lips are attached to her jaw, and without much fuss, I dip forward slowly, until I’ve lay her down on the picnic blanket. I’m hovering above her, on my forearms and one knee, while the rest of my body just settles half on top of her, half on the blanket.

“Is this okay?” I whisper into her ear, nipping her lobe before sliding my hand into her hair to undo the braid.

“Yes,” She sighs, her own hands sliding over my shoulders and biceps, not quite gripping, but enough to keep me in place.

I kiss her some more and she speaks raggedly against my lips.

“Peeta. You make my heart race… its a miracle it hasn’t broken free from my chest!”

She takes my hand, and slips it flushed against herself from her hip, all the way to where her heart is indeed beating frantically. The palm of my hand is half on her breast and half over the spot where heart beats. Her tank rides up as she drags my hand up her body.

I swipe my thumb over her nipple over the thin fabric of her shirt, and she arches her chest to meet the slight touch. I take her moan of “Yes!” as permission to dip my hand under her top, and almost cry when I’m met with the softest, silkiest bare flesh I’ve ever had the honor to feel under the pads of my fingers.

I push the tank top up and she raises her arms so I can pull it over her head. After tossing her shirt to the side I stare at her perfect, round, perky breasts, and dive in to devour her rosy hardened nubs.

She digs her fingers into my hair, to keep my head in place. She didn’t need worry. I’m not going to stop sucking on her nipples any time soon.

I’ve pinned her lower half to the ground with my hips, but I don’t dare move for fear that I’ll explode in my shorts.

Katniss is making the most delicious noises I’ve ever heard, undulating her body against mine, and I know I have to give her something to stimulate her, to keep her going just like this for as long as I can, so I bring a hand to her knee and let it travel slowly upwards and inward, as I lave her beautiful chest with devoted attention.

I find the cotton of her panties soaking wet and hot. She shouts as soon as my fingers find her.

“Peeta… please…” she begs.

I stare into her wide, hazy eyes in awe, all the while slipping one finger under her underwear, and find the glorious mess of her arousal dripping wet and warm.

“Fuck, Katniss… you’re soaked.”

“Of... course, I am! Your. F-fault.” She meowls twisting under my weight.

“My fault? Do I make you wet often?” I tease her slit unhurriedly, enjoying how much I’m affecting her usually composed self.

“Y-yessss. Ah… lot...” she bucks into my hand and rolls her head back in the sexiest display of abandon I’ve ever seen. 

“When?” I coo.

“I don’t. Knooow. All the tiiiiimeeeee?”

I slide my finger inside her causing her to arch and thrash her head a little. 

“Peeta… don’t… tease!” She admonishes when I withdraw my digits from her heat.

Her own slim hand snakes down our bodies, and palms the bulge in my shorts.

Is too much! I pull away and she whines.

She opens her glassy eyes, and stares me down until she’s wrestled my cock out of my shorts with just the one hand. Not that I was making it difficult for her, I actually tipped my hips sideways to give her better access, but it’s still impressive. 

Her grey eyes grow determined, she pulls my erection in her tight fist making me grunt with want, and rubs herself with my aching tip.

I think I went cross-eyed for a second there, my mind has officially slipped away leaving only my lust-filled impulses in command. I push her panties aside, just as she positions the head of my cock at her entrance.

“No more teasing!” She breathes out sternly.

“Whatever you want, Katniss. Just answer first,” I plead, and she nods. “Are you in love with me?” I hear the shakiness in my voice, the desperation, “I need to know.” I whisper into her ear, leaving a kiss in the shell, “Is it me you want?” 

“Yes,” she breathes out against my cheekbone. “Has been for a while.”

I picture in my head all the times I’ve caught her staring at me, blushing and smiling sweetly. I know in my heart she’s accepted her feelings and come to terms with them before now, I want to give her anything, including my heart if she asks for it on a platter!

Without further preamble, I press into her slowly, giving her a chance to adjust to my girth.

Katniss gasps, and her clever dainty fingers curl around my shoulders tighter the deeper I go. She’s so wet and welcoming, her body offers no resistance to my intrusion whatsoever. Her walls envelop my erection like a fitted glove, is like getting a warm, snug hug.

She feels like heaven, and I tell her as much, plus all the praises my overloaded brain can produce: beautiful, stunning, sweeter than honey, best thing that’s ever happened to me, how her voice is the thing of dreams and fantasies.

Once I’m completely sheathed in her, all I can do is hold on to her hips for dear life while I wait for my lungs to breathe naturally again. I’m scared I’m going to blow my load if I move, it’s agony trying to tell your body to calm the hell down when all I want is to get lost in the sensations.

She seems to understand I need a minute, because one of her hands let’s go of my bicep, and caresses my face lovingly. She kisses my jaw and nuzzles her nose on the side of my face sweetly. 

“We have all night, take me slowly.” She breathes into my ear.

I chuckle in disbelief, nod, and drop my forehead into the crook of her neck for a moment.

It’s been so long since a woman has shown me any affection, I want to soak it all up and live in her warmth forever. I kiss a path from her cheek to her mouth, and start moving slowly within her.

When that gets to be too much, I chance pace. Pulling out of her almost completely, then plunging back inside quickly, all the way to the hilt. The elastic of her panties rubbing on the side of my dick drives me insanely hard.

She sighs and gasps almost out of breath every time I re-enter her. She barely makes any noises, her jaw slacks parting her lips into a silent, wide O. Her eyes never waver from mine, even when my own shift to where we’re connected, because I can’t stop watching myself disappear into her wet folds, but the admiration is plain to see every time I focus on her gray irises. 

I sit back pulling all the way out of her but before she can even react to that, I thrust into her hard and fast. I’m convinced I just expelled all the air out of her body with my cock because her mouth goes wide, her eyes roll back into her head, but no sounds come out of her other that little, breathy squeaks.

I pick up my pace, when her feet lock around my calfs, thrusting faster and harder; that does it for her, and I swear is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

She moans my name over and over, while her body convulses under mine. Her walls fluttering around me ushers my own release.

I slump on top of her and she attacks my chin and neck with tight lip nips. She actually bites the collar of my t-shirt and pulls on it like a playful puppy.

She giggles, and starts playing with a curl of hair that’s fallen on my eyes. My whole body shakes with her laughter.

“What’s so funny?” I ask her curiously cracking one eye open so I can look at her beautiful, flushed face, framed by disheveled strands of hair escaping her ruined braid.

Her hair falls wildly around her head like an inky halo. I love it. I love _her_.

“Nothing really.” She sighs contented. Then giggles again, “I was just mentally calling myself a horny hoe… you felt so thick and long inside me, I was wondering how long I’d have to wait to see your hard dick properly? Next time we have to be completely naked. I hope next time is soon, like in a few minutes soon!”

I look at her in astonishment. I cannot believe this wanton thing is the same girl who wears shorts over her bathing suits in the pool. She’s always so reserved and sobered.

She smiles coyly at me, “I could give it a lick if you think that’ll help...” she trails her short nails down my arm blinking her lashes innocently.

Then, she purrs, “Can’t wait to give you head.”

She has the fucking audacity to suck her bottom lip inside her mouth, giving me a peek of her teeth and pink tongue.

I’m rock hard and ready to go, just like that.

She oomphs when I scramble off the ground pulling her up by the waist. I grab her top and shove it in her hands before picking her up and throwing her over my shoulder, like a sack of flour. She squeals and kicks at first, but then she just giggles as I bound down the stairs, leaving behind the picnic to deal with later.

Her shorts and panties are still askew from before, so I take advantage and run a finger down her messy slit and inform her, “You can have me naked and in your mouth in a minute. But since it’s your birthday, I’m eating you out first, so brace yourself sweetheart, is gonna be a long night!”

Can’t wait to have her in her birthday suit! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title from “Alone” by Edgar Allan Poe.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed that, because tomorrow I’ll be posting the chapter that earns this story all the Hurt, Grief, Anger tags. 
> 
>  
> 
> Leave me a comment and wish K a great day!


	5. And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I almost didn’t make it in time... today was crazy.
> 
> Please heed the tags, but I’m going to remind you anyway, that this fic contains canon typical angry responses and violence. 
> 
> One more reassurance that Everlark is endgame.

I wake up to a rain of sweet, loving kisses peppered all over my face by luscious, warm lips.

I try to trap her in my arms, but Katniss’ sitting in a very weird position just out of my reach.

She giggles pecking my eyelid.

“I have a meeting with a professor in an hour. I have to go.”

“Is he hot? Your professor?” I ask sleepily.

She chuckles. “No. Professor Latier is awfully smart and a great mentor, but I don’t find him attractive at all.”

“I don’t like having competition!” I announce lunging forward, trapping her and dragging her back into bed while she yelps. “The brainiacs are the worst! They always end up charming the pretty girls at the end of the movies.”

She turns in my arms laughing, until she’s laying across my body.

She assures me with lazy kisses on the lips,  “You. Have. No. Competition. Anywhere!” She smiles down at me, “I happen to like former jock, wrestling champs, with hearts of gold, just like you!” She kisses my nose.

“Good! Everything is right with world then.”

We kiss again. Languidly.

“I’ll bring take out for supper this evening?” She says softly, combing back my hair from my forehead.

“But I texted Rue that I wasn’t coming in so I could stay in bed with you all day!” I pout. “Can’t you just meet with the professor real quick and come home right away?”

She giggles again, and kisses me all over.

“I think we need to take a little break to rest ourselves, Don Juan, don’t you agree?” She combs my hair back off my forehead. “You can have me all to yourself tonight, I promise. I just _have_ to finish my graduation project this week, otherwise, I’d let you lure me back into bed...” She runs the palm of her hand down my bare chest with a wicked smirk. “That was some birthday last night, Peeta. Kinda wanna get online to brag about it to those other girls after your sexy ass!”

She’s fast though. Before I can move to pin her under me again she hops off the bed and blows me a kiss from the door.

“You minx!” I call after her.

Her melodic laugh trails down the hall and dies when she leaves the apartment.

I try to sit up, but every muscle in my body screams. My junk is chafing too.  Katniss is probably right about taking that break; if I’m sore all over, I can’t imagine how she must feel, I took her in every conceivable position I know, and made her cum at least twice as many times.

I lay back down and reminisce about last night’s events.

Things with Katniss are just so amazing, our age difference was never an issue last night, in fact, the experience felt much like what I imagine a healthy, mature relationship would feel and look like.

I can’t wait to be with her again, and I don’t mean in bed.

Last night wasn’t all just mindless fucking. We had quiet moments filled with meaningful conversations or easy banter. We managed to untangle ourselves from each other and ventured back to the rooftop to clean the pinic up.

I took advantage of a moment of distraction, backed her against a planter that reached just below her ass, I dropped to my knees, pulled one of her masterfully carved legs over my shoulder and ate her pussy out where she stood. I had never done that before, but she’s a goddess and I’m devoted to her worship... I told her as much, and watched her blush at my words.  

I’m not going to lie, she was so hungry for me as well, that I felt like the fucking king of the world! The most desirable man that has walked this Earth, ‘cause just hearing her tell it, I’m some kind of Adonis, admired by all women— which were such generous compliments, since in the last few years I’ve gotten a bit of a flabby belly— she said she was lucky to be sharing a bed with me, although I had to argue that point and say I was the lucky one, having the honor of kissing her and tasting all of her.

All in all, it was obvious Katniss enjoyed my body as much as I enjoyed hers.

I start daydreaming about all the exciting things ahead of us: I want to take her out on dates, show her off to everyone who’ll see! I also want to share quiet moments, just sitting somewhere, sketching her as she does any number of mundane things. I want to sit and watch sports with her, though she’s a little scary when it comes to basketball, I recently learned she takes March Madness very seriously and even made money with her bracket this year, which surprisingly lasted until Final Four.

I smile idiotically. 

My mind gets away from me, planing future trips to Europe, because she mentioned once how she’d love to travel the world, but she was afraid she’d never have the means to. Growing up, Katniss  because the main breadwinner of the family; providing for her sister Prim has always been her priority, and the only reason she even went to college was because she worked hard towards her scholarships, earning a full ride to Capitol Tech. She figured a steady job would help support her family financially easier.

I admire her so much, is ridiculous! 

Though, I’m no millionaire, I’m pretty loaded. If Katniss wants to see the world, then I’ll take her anywhere she wants. I think we should start with London, so she can visit all the places she knows from literacy.

I bet she’d get a kick out of Paddington Station. We could get a Sherlock Holmes and also a Harry Potter tour… although maybe she’d want to see the more mysterious sights, like Stonehenge or the Tower of London, I know she’s got books on the history of the Castle, because she’s so well read, my Katniss, she reads so many interesting things!

But the human mind is such a complex web. You can conjure up in your mind the most beautiful, most fantastic dreams full of promise and fuzzy feelings, but let it slip just a bit to the side, and it’ll turn into a pitfall of despair, dark and frightening despite all your noble ideas.

_MY Katniss?_

My treacherous mind reels back, disdainedful and mocking.

_Katniss isn’t mine._

_She belongs to Rye._

Guilt, shame and self loathing hits me like a ton of bricks.

_What have I done?_

The roiling in my stomach gets painful and I have to rush to the toilet to vomit.

After emptying my stomach, I shower, brush my teeth avoid looking at myself in the mirror for fear of what I’ll find in my reflection.

Then out of the blue, I have to see.

There’s white peppering the hair on my temples. It looks painfully obvious now that my hair is damp, a shade darker. My two day stubble is also sprinkled with the white fuckers, mocking me.

Suddenly I’m questioning if any of _her_ actions and words were real. Did she mean anything she said last night about liking me?

Our age difference is so stark and jarring when she’s not around to muddle up my thinking process. That’s how it was so easy to succumb to the lust; I can’t think straight when she’s around. I’m not sure is my memories of her are real or not, everything has a shiny quality to it, too hypened, like trying to watch high definition pictures on a tube TV.

After getting dressed, I pull the covers off the bed and switch them for clean ones. I febreze the entire bedroom, because it’s smells like sex with _her_ , and I can’t deal with the emotions her scents stirs in me. Hell, I can’t deal even with uttering her _name_!

I’m jumpy. Anxious. I need something to do, so I go through a box I haven’t dare touch since packing it, back in winter. Truth be told, I’m not ready to face it, but in the dark recesses of my mind, some nagging voice, suspiciously similar to my mother’s, says that I deserve punishment for being a weak creep.

My hands tremble when I grab Rye’s duffle bag. He never got a chance to fully unpack, so I just dropped the whole thing into a box and sealed it up for when I felt ready to look through it... ready or not, the duffel is out. I can’t turn back now.

The tears start falling freely as soon as I unzip the bag and I’m met with my boy’s scent. The first t-shirt I pull out of the duffle, is one he’s had since high school, I recognize it at once, I even remember the day, reason and place he got it. It’s incredible the way those insignificant  details become treasured memories when a loved one is gone forever.

I hold the garment as if the worn cotton would disintegrate in my hands if I mishandle it, I bring the soft material to my nose and breathe my son in.

I completely lose it.

I hug the shirt to my chest and scream in pain. 

I’m a despicable piece of shit!

Here I am, planning some romantic getaway with _Rye’s_ girlfriend, when I never once asked _him_ if he wanted to go on some adventure through the world with me. Granted, we traveled some when he was younger, visited most of the important landmarks all over the continental US; Jo and I pool money together and took him to Hawaii for two weeks before he had to report to boot camp, as a high school graduation present.

He tried to look excited, but I knew he missed Katniss the whole time. I wish I had asked her mother permission to bring her with us. Maybe then I would have some more respect for boundaries with her. 

Now I’m wondering if I could I’ve been that dad? The kind that condones their underaged children having sleepovers with their sweethearts? Was that something any parent in the world would actually allow?

I used to think I was a good father, but the harsh reality is that I’m inmoral enough to seduce and fuck a fresh-faced, barely 22 year old coed without batting an eye. I don’t put much stock on my own parental abilities anymore. Sure, I gave my child the best life I could provide, but now I steal from him in death. Why am I this shitty, is beyond me.

I can’t go on for maybe an hour, and really I should just stop, find one of those hermetic storing bags, so every ounce of my Rye’s precious essence is preserved. But I need to atone for what I’ve done.

I can’t even call it by its name, but the ugly sensations twisting the pit of my stomach into a knot won’t let me have a reprieve.

I keep unpacking, and then I see it, rolled up into a sock, stuffed into a boot, there’s a tiny black box.

I don’t wanna open it. I don’t wanna know what’s inside. But what else could it be?

And now I’m filled with full on white-hot rage.

I want to go find her! Yell at her. Tell her how much I hate her for what she’s doing to me, to Rye, to his memory; but I don’t, I just sit there and cry, because there’s no way she could have known about this.

 

* * *

 

“Knock, knock!” Her voice is cheerful, carefree, innocent, and grating in my ears.

Up until this point I've managed to keep the blame centered solely on myself— I’m the dad here, I’m the one who knew better than betraying Rye— But now that I hear her speak, I realize she was an all too willing participant in this debacle, going as far as inciting the events herself in her seemingly sweet and innocent demeanor, while in reality she turned into a mutt. A succubus. She has a responsibility too in this mess, and she needs to be held accountable too.

A small voice in the back of my mind tries to tell me to calm down; that I’m just projecting my own guilt on her; that my anger towards her is unwarranted; that she has no idea of what I’ve been stewing in my head all day... but I want to be angry. I want to lash out. I want her to feel as sad and hurt as Rye probably does right now!

‘ _It’s the grief talking_ ’. My inner voice says.

’ _It’s the truth!’_  Argues back the voice that sounds like my mother. 

I’m at odds with myself. I may be going crazy with guilt.

She walks into the kitchen and the smell of fried rice attacks my nostrils, making my stomach churn uncomfortably.

“Hi handsome!” She greets oblivious to the storm brewing in my chest. “Did someone forget it was my turn providing dinner?” She asks playfully when she sees me hard at work kneading some dough.

“I didn’t forget. I just don’t want Chinese food” I say quietly.

She had been unpacking some bags but abruptly stops, I glance at her for the first time since she left this morning, and I punch the dough harder than is necessary.

She’s so beautiful it’s gutting me out.

The smile etched in her face slowly falls as the tension in the room mounts.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I bought all this food because I’ve been ravenous all day after last night. I could’ve gotten something else instead.” She chuckles nervously.

I stop kneading. I make my way slowly to the fridge and pull out a beer. I order my body to look relaxed, though I’m anything but. I take a long, slow pull from my bottle, staring at her the whole time. 

“I think you better leave.” I say silently. 

“Are you… is this… did I miss something? what’s- what’s the matter?” She's visibly stunned.

There are around 10 little containers of take out sprawled all over the counter, she eyes them wearily, but after a moment of deafening silence, she starts putting them back in the plastic bags she brought them in. 

I have to hold onto the back of a chair, just to feel in control of myself. I keep my eyes on her the whole time, and I know I’m making her uncomfortable with my scrutiny, because she’s starting to get flustered. 

I can see the concern in her eyes. I know her well enough to know she’s trying to tamp down her own emotions for my sake, she’s very intuitive that way. If she doesn’t understand something, she’d wait until she can see the whole picture and then react accordingly.

She finally says quietly, “If you change your mind about food, let me know. I’ll be at my place.”  

“I just… I can’t deal with yo— ‘ _it_ ’, right now.” I bow my head and squeeze the backrest of the chair until my circulation cuts.

“Did I do something wrong?” Her voice is thin and broken.

That’s when I scream at her.

“You don’t think cheating on your dead boyfriend is enough wrongdoing?”

She flinches at my outburst, frozen in place.

“He bought you a fucking ring, you know, and you repay him by sleeping around?” I accuse her viciously.

“I-I didn’t know. I swear.” She’s panicking, her voice is so small and brittle. “Peeta... we can talk about this like any other time.” She begs in a whisper.

But I don’t feel anything right now other than shame, guilt, and anger and she’s the cause of this toxic cocktail.

The floodgates of hell have been opened, I can’t stop the vile that comes out of my mouth, even though I know I’m being completely unfair. Before I’m conscious of what I’m doing, I’ve chucked my nearly full bottle of beer into the sink. The bottle clatters loudly on contact and the beer shoots out of it in jets, but the glass doesn’t chatter. I feel a frenzy rush through me and yelling at her, while she shrinks back.

“My son hasn’t been in the ground five months and I’m fucking his girl raw! But you ask if _you’ve done something wrong_? That we can _talk it out like any other time_?” I’m using a mocking tone, very reminiscent of my mother, but I can’t stop myself, a monster has taken over me, and I’m locked inside my head, trying to find a way out. 

Meanwhile, the accusations and poison persist.

“You wanna know what’s wrong? You’re letting _me_ , a man 18 years older than you, fuck _you_ who’s barely legally allowed to rent a car! You should be mourning my son, not laying in my bed with your legs open, presenting me every hole in your body to wet my cock in. You shouldn’t be fucking anyone! that’s what’s wrong!”

I take a lamp from the corner of the counter and throw it across the kitchen. This time, I’m rearwarded with the satisfactory sound of smashing ceramic  against wall.

Katniss shrieks.

I’ve never been happier about her near-ninja reflexes before. Too late do I realize that the actual trajectory of my missile landed just a foot besides her shoulder. She was able to slings herself the opposite way just in time... I don’t know what would’ve done...

Katniss doesn’t move for a minute, huddled by the refrigerator. She’s  terrified and my heart breaks into a million pieces.

“I— Katniss—” I try, but my stomach sinks.

She shakes her head, extends her arm showing me her palm effectively stopping  me from talking or even coming near her.

As quickly as she can, Katniss grabs the food, trembling like a leaf from head to toe. She mutters under her breath between choked whimpers something about the homeless around the corner, and how much they’ll appreciate a nice warm meal.

Her face is a mess of tears and snot. She won’t even look at me.

I want to rush to her, wrap her in my arms and apologize a million times, whispering in her ear that I didn’t mean  to act this way, that _that_ wasn’t me, that none of the stuff I said are her fault or even real; that I’m a jerk and a fuck-up just like my mother always told me I was.

But I don’t move and inch. I'm not just an useless fuck-up, I’ve turned into a monster, a bully, an abusive mutt. I’ve turned into my mother herself, after all these years of priding myself of being her opposite. I’m a joke! 

I’m paralyzed. My body doesn’t respond to my frantic commands of “go after her, you moron!”, not even when she hightails out of the kitchen without sparing me another glance.

“Katniss?” I plead choking back a sob.

But the front door slams announcing her exit, and I know she’s done with me forever.

 

* * *

 

It’s been a week since I scared Katniss away, and I feel like shit.

I run into her in the lobby.

As soon as she sees me, she perks up and stands straighter.

I don’t know why she acts like I’m a welcome sight after the way I treated her; God knows I’m not good for her; all _I_ know is that I can’t help my wandering eyes from flitting back to her every other second.

Her hair is loose today. She’s got makeup on and is wearing slacks and a nice flowy blouse. I wonder where is she coming from. _I should say hi!_ I think to myself,   _ease my way in before dropping to floor and grovel for forgiveness._  But instead of talking to her like a normal person, I ignore her.

My eyes flit back towards her while we wait for the elevator. It’s such an awkward silence; she tries to smile but I look away.

The elevator doors open with a ping, and I board it in one long stride. She’s still in the same spot, so we just stand there face to face, staring at each other mutely.

She’s chewing on the inside of her cheek and holding to her “big girl purse” —as she calls it— for dear life. Neither of us talk and eventually the elevator doors start closing.

There’s a fraction of a second in which her eyebrows arch expectantly, like she’s giving me a chance to do something; her gaze searches my eyes, but I see the moment she realizes I’m not going respond as the disappointment dulls her usually sparkly eyes.

She finally lets her gray irises fall away.

The last thing I see before the doors are shut, are her shoulders hunching.

My eyes are stuck on the spot I last saw her, but in front of me is only my own reflection on the buffed steel surface of the elevator.

I look even older.

 _Is better this way_ , I tell myself. _I have no business messing with a 22 year old_.

She can do so much better than an abusive old fart who’s carrying all the guilt and sorrow of the world on his broken shoulders. The truth is that she did so much better when she had Rye.

Now she’s got no one, because I took myself out from the equation, I just hope my lease is up by the time she finds someone more deserving, that’ll treat her right, because I’m not sure what will happen to my battered heart if bump into her with a new lover.

I don’t sleep a wink, there’s no point in resting. 

The next day I come home to a neat pile of books stacked on my coffee table that hadn’t been there when I left for work in the wee hours of the morning. On top of the books is a note hastily scribbled in Katniss’ loopy handwriting, and on top of the note, the spare key to my apartment she had never gotten around to return until now.

My eyes prickle with unshed tears.

She returned even the books she took the day of the wake.

That’s that then. She purged herself from me.

With a pang to the heart I pick up the note and stick it on the fridge door, right on the place she had leaned her head to cry on that awful evening, because I deserve to be reminded, _everyday_ of the things I’m not allowed to want, let alone have. 

 

 

 

> ** Alone **
> 
> From childhood’s hour I have not been  
>  As others were—I have not seen  
>  As others saw—I could not bring  
>  My passions from a common spring—  
>  From the same source I have not taken  
>  My sorrow—I could not awaken  
>  My heart to joy at the same tone—  
>  And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—  
>  Then—in my childhood—in the dawn  
>  Of a most stormy life—was drawn  
>  From ev’ry depth of good and ill  
>  The mystery which binds me still—  
>  From the torrent, or the fountain—  
>  From the red cliff of the mountain—  
>  From the sun that ’round me roll’d  
>  In its autumn tint of gold—  
>  From the lightning in the sky  
>  As it pass’d me flying by—  
>  From the thunder, and the storm—  
>  And the cloud that took the form  
>  (When the rest of Heaven was blue)  
>  Of a demon in my view—
> 
> **Edgar Allan Poe**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from “Alone” by Edgar Allan Poe


	6. None Can Dissever My Soul From The Soul Of Katniss Everdeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> This story is unbetaed, and riddled with mistakes that are entirely my own.
> 
> Sorry it’s been so long, this is the last part of the already published on tumblr, so the remaining chapters are all new content. 
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me! Enjoy!

It’s been over three months since I last saw Katniss. Closed to 9 months since laying Rye to rest.

Thanks to Rue I know Katniss graduation happened a couple of weeks ago. Her mother and sister were here for that, and she got a job her professor recommended her for. She didn’t even have to be interviewed for the job!

It doesn’t surprise me. Katniss’ so smart and clever, also such a hard worker.

I was so proud of her, I think I smiled the whole time Rue was talking about Katniss’ accomplishments.

“You should call her.” Rue says and my smile fades. “Whatever fallout you two had, it’s obvious you miss each other.”

“No. Being realistic, she doesn’t need me holding her hostage to some loyalty to Rye. He’s dead, she’s not, she deserves to live her life.”

“I understand you want her to move on, but so should you, Peeta. Loving someone is not a sin. But not fighting for that love… well, that’s just tragic. Don’t look at me like that, mister!” She sasses when I just stare at her in disbelief. “I've known how you felt for her for ages.

“You think you’re so discreet? When it’s pretty much written all over your face! That lovesick puppy face you make when you say her name is a pretty obvious giveaway.”

“What? you’re exaggerating.” I protest.

Rue just cocks her head to the side, stares at me and poses, “But, am I?”

I guess the answer is, no. But I’m right. Katniss is better off without me.

 

* * *

 

 

I get a ping on my phone and I’m surprised to see it’s from her.

 **17:55  
Katniss:** _Hey! Can we talk?_

I delete the message. It’s taken me too long to get her out of my system to fall into this rabbit hole again.

The next day, she calls and I let it go to voicemail. She calls two more times and I let them ring until the phone goes silent. She leaves messages that I erase without hearing.

She texts again two days later.

 **18:33  
Katniss:** _When will be an appropriate time 2 call U?_

 **18:44  
Katniss:** _Or U can call me. I’m free anytime!_

I ignore those too.

Johanna finally comes to the city, once I tell her I cut Katniss completely out off my life. She takes over seamlessly, she doesn’t even ask what happened between me and Katniss and I can’t help feeling that Jo is more than happy to pretend Katniss never even existed.

It makes chest hurt.

Jo’s dusting a picture of Rye wearing his 8th grade quarterback uniform, smiling softly at the image.

“He hated football.” I say glancing at the picture. “He hated wrestling. He hated baseball. He hated art. He hated everything!”

“He loved track and swimming.” Jo says beaming at a picture of baby Rye eating a lemon wedge.

“Two things Katniss is good at.” I grimace. I didn’t mean to say it aloud. But all comes back to her at the end.

“Good riddance.” Johanna breathes out. “I’m so relieved you’re not seeing her anymore.”

My heart squeezes tightly in my chest. That dull ache that’s made it’s home dead center in my solar plexus flares to life. This is the Johanna from Christmas all over again, the one that when I didn’t want to go to Panem, couldn’t understand why. The one that kept saying I should just get over my sadness and join my brothers with all their living sons and have a merry holiday, even though my only son was rotting under ground. 

I cant stand it any longer. I lash out.

“Why? What did Katniss ever do to you, Jo? What is it about her you hate so much? She’s a sweet, caring, smart, beautiful girl. She doesn’t deserve all this hostility!”

Johanna is just staring at me weird.

“WHAT? Goddamnit?” I yell.

“You’re crying.” She says simply.

I hadn’t notice. Having tears rolling down my face is so commonplace now, I don’t even feel them anymore.

Johanna breathes deeply, gets up from her spot and gives me a hug. “I don’t hate her. I just don’t think is healthy for you to hang out together.”

“I know that! You don’t think I know that? But you still have all this animosity... and is not the way you’re thinking. You think she’s gonna hurt me, when in reality I’m the one who hurt her. That’s the reason I let her go, because she needs to be protected from me,”

Jo looks perturbed, and she doesn’t know half of it. So I fill her in on my doomed relationship with Katniss, how I eerily toed the line of physical abuse in a bout of anger and guilt when she didn’t deserve any of it. The whole time, Jo just made faces, interjecting here and there, piecing the story together as best she could from my fractured retaling.

“Peeta... Please tell me you didn’t sleep with her.” She asks anxiously and a little grossed out.

When I don’t answer she says my name again in disappointment. “Were you at least safe?”

“I... it was only one night.”

I refuse to say anything else and her face tells me just how bad I’ve fucked up as if I need her judging me.

It takes her a while to look at me again, but she finally resolves that the next thing I need to do is have a hot date, expensive food, and a good fuck with a lady more on my age bracket, and I’ll be good as new.

I don’t want to date and fuck anybody other than Katniss, but I can’t have who I want, so I let Jo convince me that her remedy will work, because it’ll be like a rebound. I’m not sure about her logic, but I let her set me up on a date for the following weekend.

On Saturday night, I open my front door, and jump back startled, when I find Katniss with her knuckles poised to rap on my door.

I frown. She’s persistent.

She’s also as pretty as ever, if a little  fuller. It suits her, she’s usually so thin, not that there’s anything wrong with being thin or fuller, as long as she’s healthy and happy... she does look healthy, but I can’t say she looks happy.

I think bitterly how Johanna would have a field day talking about how round and rosy Katniss’ cheeks are. Sometimes, I can’t say I like Jo very much. 

Katniss startles too, but remains undeterred.

“Hi, Peeta!” She says shyly, “Um, do you have a minute? I’ve been wanting to talk to you. It’s kind of important—“

“Sorry, I’m late for a date.” I say stepping out of the apartment and locking the door.

“Oh?” Her eyes flit away, I see the pain in her face, and it sucks.

“Maybe I’ll see you around sometime next week.”

“Mmm, m-my lease is up actually. I’m moving back to Panem in a few days. But I have to t—“

My phone rings, and it’s my date.

“Sorry, I have to take this… I’ll try and catch you up?” I walk away, and see the agitation in Katniss’ gray eyes.

“I just need a minute, just a minute,” She practically begs. But then holds back, standing in the middle of the hallway.

I answer the call and my date tells me she’s 10 minutes away from the restaurant, so I hurry away to the elevator. When I turn around Katniss is still standing there, dejected.

It strikes me as odd. Her eyes were always so sparkly, even during Rye’s funeral her eyes had this glim, but right now, they look dull and sad.

I’ve just walked away from the girl I once sworn didn’t want to lose. And a conflict unfolds inside me, on the one hand Rue’s telling me to fight for her, on the other, Jo keeps repeating that I’m better off without her.

Who am I gonna listen to in the end?

 

* * *

 

I’m pissing drunk.

I can barely hold myself up, but I do my best until I’m in front of the door I’m looking for through slitted eyes.

I pound on it as savagely as the coordination of a man with this level of intoxication can muster.

And then I start slurring loudly.

“Kantiss! You cock-blocking, cock-blocker!

“Kantsissss. You win goddamnit!

“I give up! miss you!

“Hell, I’m fucking in love with you!

“Kat-niiiiith!”

I pound on the door again, “I’m yours! And I’m sorry I’ve been such a… mmm… Kat—” I slip a little.

When I get up, I start just chanting her name.

“Katniss, Katniss, Katniss, Katniss, Katniss, Katniss,”

A door two apartments down the hall flies open, revealing a bewildered Katniss in yoga pants and a loose t-shirt. Her hair is piled up on top of her head in a messy bun. She scowls.

I sigh like a schoolboy when I see her stalking towards me, looking positively angry.

“Heeeey, purty thang!” I smile dreamily at her.

“What the hell are you doing, Peeta? You’re gonna get us in trouble!” She pulls me away from the door I’ve been hollering at.

“Wait!” I exclaim alarmed. “Where we going? I been knockin’, and callin’ and tellin’ ya shit… you-you came out of the wrong door!” I look back at the door but still go willingly after her when she tugs on my hand.

“Uh, sorry to break to you, Peeta, but you were about blast down the wrong door.”

“Na-uh! You live in D12!” I inform her proud of myself.

She glares at me. “I know! It’s been my address for a few years now. But you were screaming at D10, you’re lucky Dalton is out of town.”

We are about to cross under her threshold, but she turns around sharply. “Did you drive here? How did you get home?”

“I drove myself, silly! But first I stopped at the vodka store, because you can’t get smashed without vodka!”

“So you did this to yourself intentionally,” She rolls her eyes and pulls me inside her apartment.

“Duuude! This is exactly like your old place! Look it, it even has the same stain of pasgetti I left on the carpet!”

She huffs. “Come on,  _Ted and Bill_. Let’s get you cleaned up and in bed.”

“Oooh... bed! Are we gonna… do IT?” I whisper the last two words trying and failing to wiggle my eyebrows, as if I’m saying something naughty.

She shuffles me inside the bathroom, and frowns a little placing her fists on her hips. Without turning to look at me she says in a no nonsense voice, “We are not gonna have sex, Peeta.”

“Whyyyy?” I whine. “I want you so fucking bad! You’re hotter than a hapaleño! Wait, that ain’t right... ñalapeño? haranero?”

“It’s either habanero or jalapeño. Sit down here and take off your shoes and socks.”

“Yeah! That’s it! hañavero!” I smile goofily, doing as she commanded.

I’m not very coordinated so she has to help, and once my feet are bare, I wiggle my toes at her.

She bats my foot away before gesturing with her hand. “Shirt.”

I raise my arms so she can pull my shirt off, but it’s a button up, so she has to undo the top three buttons before pulling it over my head.

“You didn’t tell me why you won’t let me do you?”

”Pants and underwear off. We’re not having sex because I’m angry at you, Peeta. Plus, you’re skunked and smell horrible.”

“I love you.” I tell her simply.

This makes her stop for a second to glare at me, before continuing.

“I love you too. Even though you’re a jackass.” She deadpans. “Sit tight for a second, I’m gonna get the water.”

She takes her own clothes off real quick and we get into the steaming shower together. She washes my body as if I was a toddler. She even bats my hands away sternly when I try to touch her breasts.

“You have amazing boobs! I think I’m in love with your boobs.”

“I know. Turn around and rinse off.”

Once she declares us cleaned, she gives me a towel and I do a mediocre job drying myself. I follow her to bed. We climb in naked under the covers. I’m so tired, I don’t even try anything funny.

“Marry me, Katniss. We should get married,” I stare into her face, while she settles next to me.

She combs my hair back softly, not quite smiling.

“Ask me again when you’re sober.”

“Willyousayyes?”

“I don’t know. I should probably say no. You don’t deserve a yes right now.”

I nod. I agree one hundred percent. Even with the alcohol fumes fogging up my brain, I know she’s right.

“Hey, Katniss, have I ever tell you about Lavinia?”

She shakes her head. I’m not sure if she’s heard the name even in passing before.

“She has auburn hair and dark green eyes. So green, you’d think you’re look at emeralds.” I shift closer to Katniss.

“Lavinia was the first girl I fucked.” I say flatly. “We fucked like rabbits. In the car, in the movie theatre, in the public library bathroom, in her folks bed, in my dad’s bakery closet. You name it, we’ve fuck there. I knocked her up after a while. She wanted to have an abortion, I told her I’d support anything she want, because I was scared shitless myself of having a baby.

“Lavinia’s daddy was a preacher. He didn’t let her have the abortion, but she didn’t want to keep the kid. So, the day Rye was born, I fell in love for the first time, ever! I felt bad I wanted Lavinia to abort him. Her family was too proud to admit Lavinia loathed the idea of being a teenage mother, but they didn’t want a scandal either, so they pretty much ceded custody to me right away. I never regretted keeping him. The child was a joy to be around. So sweet, so funny and opinionated.

“Lavinia only met him a couple of times, usually because I’d ask her to come, after he’d been making questions about her. She was more like an oddity to Rye at the end.

“She didn’t come to his funeral because she felt guilty. She had never been there to see him bloom into the awesome person he was. Her loss. My boy had a family that doted on him, friends who adored him, and a gorgeous girl to call his own. He never really missed her as a mom.

“But today, something made me think. Maybe, just maybe, Rye was here on borrowed time? And then I think back on all the wonderful times we had together… he was my greatest treasure, my greatest accomplishment and my greatest love. I wish I had given him siblings. I love babies, but the right woman never came along until you showed up, and I feel terrible for stealing you from Rye.

”I had to come clean to him. Tell him what I’ve done, and tell him how I feel, the ugly and the sweet. So, I went to see him tonight instead of going on that silly date. I mean, I went to the restaurant, I’m not that much of an asshole, but one small conversation with Ms. Cashmere sweater- whatever her name is- and I knew I wasn’t gonna stay long. She didn’t seem too broken up about it either.

“But, yeah… I went to Rye’s grave, I came clean to him. I asked him to forgive me. I told him, that if you’d have me, I’d try my best to honor and cherish you as much as as he did. I promised him, I would treat you with love and respect… and then, a breeze started blowing. Sweet and fragrant and warm. It felt like he gave me his blessing, which was further confirmed when I got to my kitchen and was drinking my vodka, and in my head, I heard him reciting some words, and then he said I could borrow his poem. So, here it goes:

“— _Our love it was stronger by far than the love_  
_Of those who were older than we—_  
_Of many far wiser than we—_  
_And neither the angels in Heaven above_  
_Nor the demons down under the sea_  
_Can ever dissever my soul from the soul_  
_Of the beautiful Katniss Everdeen;_

 _For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams_  
_Of the beautiful Katniss Everdeen;_  
_And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes_  
_Of the beautiful Katniss Everdeen;_  
_And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side_  
_Of my darling—my darling—my life and my_ Future _bride,_  
_Katniss Everdeen.”_

I pause and look up at her. There are tears on her cheeks, silent ones, but not angry ones.

“Did you see what I did there?” I ask her trying to wink. I’m still pretty drunk, but this, I’ll remember in the morning.

She smiles sadly, “Yeah. You replaced Annabel Lee’s name with mine. So clever, Peeta. Just one problem, won’t mr. Poe be angry for your plagiarism?”

“What are you? Poetry police? _Nevermore_!” I shout and she finally gives me a real smile.

“You’re impossible.”

“ _Nevermore!_ ”

“Nevermore yourself!” She chuckles, “Go to sleep, you crazy man. Who goes to the graveyard at night? you must be really losing it.”

“I had important business with my boy.” I yawn. “Hey Katniss. I won’t forget to ask you to marry me tomorrow. I remember everything about you! So... think about your answer? I’d like to know what's in your mind. I know you don’t want babies, and after thinking about it a lot, I’m okay with being just the two of us. But if you ever change your mind, that’s cool too… just think about it. Say you’ll think about it,”

I don’t hear her answer, all the booze I consumed catches up with me and sends me straight into oblivion, but I’m okay! The beautiful Katniss Everdeen is next to me. All my nightmares nowadays are about losing her, I’m okay knowing she’s right here. 

 

* * *

 

 “Peeta?”

Katniss’ groggy voice comes from her bedroom.

If I knew where my own voice had gone to, I would’ve gladly answer her call; but I’m currently mute and thoroughly engrossed in a most curious image I found stuck to the door of her fridge a few minutes ago.

I hear shuffling and movement coming from the other room, then she pads to the living room in almost silence. I hear her sighing and backtracking her steps down the tiny hallway. The bathroom door opens and she releases a bone-chilling shrike when she turns on the light and finds me sitting in the bathtub, very still and quiet.

Despite how much I want to turn to face her, I don’t. 

 _Can’t_ , rather. 

My eyes are fixed in the grainy, black and white picture I snatched up this morning after getting dressed and attempting to make myself a very strong cup coffee, before planning my next move in the quest of wooing Katniss back to me.

If my suspicions are correct, she’s got me beat on every possible side. 

But while she’s been asleep, I’ve been sitting in the tub with my knees drawn to my chest and my arms tightly wrapped around them, staring at this picture as if it holds all the answers to the worlds deepest questions.

Katniss eventually recuperates from the scare jump and walks cautiously further into the bathroom. She lowers the toilet lid and takes a sit gingerly. She says nothing, but I can feel her inquisitive eyes on me.

All I can think to say is, “Is this what you were hounding me down to talk about?” I caress the glossy slip of paper with my thumb. My eyes flit to hers quickly.

Katniss’ hands are neatly clasped on her lap. She nods slowly. “It is.” She confirms  quietly.

“Why didn’t you say anything last night?” I ask holding her eyes for a short moment.

“Your were drunk as a skunk! Your head wasn’t in a very good place, and earlier when I went up to your apartment, you acted so _rudely_. You couldn’t get away from me fast enough, even though I begged you for a moment of your time. When was I supposed to say anything?You keep ignoring and avoiding me.” She sounds both angry and hurt.

I release a stuttering breath.

She’s right, I’ve been avoiding her. When she finally came to find me in person, I dismissed her without giving her the chance to speak her peace, and later I just barged in here like a mad man, completely hammered.

Another few sins to add to the long list of things I need to atone for, but I let it go for now. I have more pressing questions in mind that need to be voiced.

“And… You’re _keeping_ it?” I’m trying hard to tamp down any emotions I’m feeling, since I’m confused at best, scared shitless at worse, and incredibly conflicted to boot. There is guilt there too, lost of it wanting to pounce on me like a 400 pound lion, but the bubble of pure, unadulterated excitement that’s threatening to burst over me keeps gaining ground every second Katniss isn’t denying it.

“I am.” She responds with conviction. “I really want it.” Her voice is small, but there’s a hint of a smile on her lips.

My heart skips a beat, then stutters back to life. My eyes go back to the picture in my hands. I frown. “Is this why you’re going back to Panem? What happened to that job offer here in Capitol City? I heard they even waved the interview for you.” I inquire nervously.

“I turned down the job after finding out. My mama said I should come back home. She’ll cut down on her hours at the hospital to help watch the baby, while I figure out what to do to support ourselves. There are a few positions I’m qualified for in Panem I can apply for, it shouldn’t be that bad, it’s home after all. And Prim…” she hesitates, grimacing. Her fingers fidgeting together.

“Prim will go to medical school as planned. She’s got a scholarship and some grants, and a small chunk of money my father had the foresight to save, years ago.” She shrugs, “We’ll gonna make it work.” She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself, which should send a million red flags fluttering around, but I’m too wrapped up on the word ‘ _baby_ ’ to notice anything else.

“So… your mother _knows_?” I keep running my thumbs over the sonogram.

“Of course she _knows_! I had to tell _someone_.” There's a hint of reproach in her snappy tone. “Who better than a highly qualified nurse practitioner who’s also my mother?” 

I feel like such a tool right now. All the shit I’ve put her through, and she’s faced it all alone like a champ. I don’t deserve her or the baby... _my baby!_

“Does she know who the daddy is?” I enunciate looking at her quickly. A rush of uncertainty and anxiety waves over me.

She frowns. “She knows alright. Actually, I didn’t have to tell her anything. She—she just kinda knew without even asking. The unsettling part was that she wasn’t even mad, just… _disappointed. A_ s if she had known all along it was going to happen, but was holding out hope for a different outcome.” She sighs.

“Okay.” I acquiesce flatly, before clearing my throat. “And… what about me?” I breath out slowly, glancing at her expectantly. 

“About you? I guess is up to yourself.”

Then before I swallow down the words— because I know it’s a _terrible_ , _terrible_ , terribly stupid thing to ask— my mouth runs idiotically in the worst possible question ever.

“Any chance I’m gonna be a grandpa?”

I grimace right away.

I know on instinct this single question is costing me mayor points I can’t afford to lose as it is.

I’m surprised she still graces me with a response.

“Even if _that_ was a remote possibility, and we went by the last time I was actually in the same room with Rye, I would have to be 19 months far for this child to be your grand baby, Peeta.” She crosses her arms over her chest indignantly.

“Not that I have to justify anything to you, but FYI, including yourself, I’ve slept with a grand total of two guys my entire life! Neither is related to the other. So, no. This is decidedly not your grand baby. And before you ask, I know without a shadow of a doubt I’m carrying _your_ child, one hundred percent guaranteed!”

I’m elated, terrified and shamed by her words. And that doesn’t even begin to cover how I feel about the hurt and indignation I see displayed on her face. 

Her expression turns absolutely sour, and then she says something I’m sure she never intended to discuss with me.

“Rye and I never had sex. We never had the chance. The night he got murdered would've been our first time. He wasn’t concerned with sexuality, in fact, sometimes I wonder if he was asexual or something because he was content with just being around me, without taking it further. I guess we’ll never know now.”

She fixes me with a withering stare that completely commands me.

“Since that’s cleared up now, can you stop with the weirdness? There’s nothing incestuos about us. There’s no overlapping. There aren’t any hidden lovers.” She snaps angrily. 

Well, this conversation has been... _enlightening_. Not the hidden lovers part, I already knew she hasn’t seen anyone else; but her chaste relationship with Rye? That’s shocking news to me.

They were in a serious relationship since the very beginning. And while I never actively thought about Rye having sex— it's just too strange, disturbing and gross to think about— I’m surprised to hear him and Katniss weren’t physically intimate.

Too many implications that only the two of them understand.

But the way he spoke about her. The way he looked at her like she hung the moon and the stars, never hinted at abstinence. I know my son was smitten. I can’t imagine him not wanting her sexually, but I guess you don’t have to be physical to express love for someone.

Besides the one crazy night of passion with Katniss, we’ve never actually been romantically involved. Yet we have a level of emotional intimacy I’ve never experience before. I’ve been completely smitten with her for a while myself, and it’s embarrassing how much I fantasized about her in bed _before_ it actually happened; the notion of someone being in a relationship with her, and keep it chaste and pure is just mind blowing to me.

“Katniss, I honestly don’t wanna know about Rye’s sexual life—“

“You brought it up!” She snaps shutting me up.

“Sorry.” I mutter sheepishly, looking away in chastisement.

“You should be!” She fully scowls. “The issue of sex with Rye was always a touchy subject for me. For the longest time, I thought there was something wrong with me, or that he was a closeted gay-dude with a girlfriend. Wouldn't had been the first sailor to do something like it to cover up his sexual orientation.” Her legs are crossed now as well as her arms.

I’m no body language expert, but she looks very defensive and unapproachable right now.

“Look,” she starts impatiently, “my bladder’s shrunk to the size of a lima bean. I’ve been holding it all this time because this conversation it’s important — Lord knows we have too much shit to sift through. We may even need professional help depending on the direction we’ll take this— but I have to pee. Badly. I also _really_ need a break from you, before I say something I’ll regret later, because you keep putting your foot in your mouth and my patience is running very thin, so...” she gestures towards the door making her demand clear.

I assent, knowing she’s right and willing to start being the man both her and the baby deserve. I climb out of the tub heavily, my dignity be damned. I pass her still sitting on the toilet, bouncing one leg restlessly and her arms crossed over her chest avoiding eye contact with me.

In all that, I don’t let go of the sonogram. I’m not sure what am I gonna tell her if she asks for it back, but I can’t part with it. I’m keeping it as close to me as I can, but right now, that small rectangle of flimsy paper is the only thing that makes sense in my life.

As soon as I’m alone, my mind starts wandering down the wrong path— the one that brought me here, where my reaction to the best news I’ve gotten in such a long time were met with uncertainty surrounded by a stale fog of alcohol instead of the unbridled joy and anticipation it deserved.

I force myself to reel my jumbled mind back and keep it on the straight and narrowed path. I’m not sure how to feel, but I know grief and guilt have no room in my heart when a seed of hope is slowly growing in Katniss’ womb; hell, the tiny roots of that seed have already started to dig themselves deep into my battered heart.

I don’t know what to do with myself. I keep pacing an irregular circle, from the kitchen to the tiny two chair table that doubles as her dining room, around the couch and back to the kitchen to start my loop again. After three laps of that, I start wondering if the baby is hungry?

I should’ve asked Katniss when was the last time she ate.

the idea strikes like lightning: ‘ _I should make her breakfast!_ ’ I have cheese bun ingredients upstairs. She likes those. 

I knock on the bathroom door and speak loudly. “Hey, Katniss? I’m gonna go make us something to eat, okay? Text me if you want me to bring it down here, or we can eat up in my place if you like.”

“Okay,” comes her response. “I’m feeling nauseous right now, but I can eat!”

The idea of someone saying they can eat despite being nauseous, for real, tickles me. But something tells me laughing about it right now will be counterproductive.

I’m almost giddy hopping on the elevator and waltzing through my apartment door. I turn on my oven, gather all my supplies, set Pandora to something cheerful; I’m feeling ska, because is that kind of morning, old school but colorful. The sound of horns and lively music feel the kitchen, and my heart lightens for the first time in forever. 

30 minutes later, my buns are in the oven, and my figurative “bun in the oven” rings my doorbell.

I sigh dreamily when I set eyes on Katniss.

I wonder if the fact that I know she’s pregnant with my child makes any difference in how I look at her? So I indulge myself in simply staring at her in a way I’ve never allowed myself before: unapologetically hungry.

Her hair is wet and tightly braided, she’s got clean comfortable clothes on and is barefooted. She realizes I’m staring at her feet.

“I just felt like it,” She says defensively, jutting her chin out. 

I raise both my hands in surrender. I’m not going to say anything. I’m smarter than that. Instead, I direct her to the breakfast bar where I’ve set my best china, glass and silverware and a spread fitted for a princess awaits for the woman carrying my baby.

I wanted to put flowers on the table for her, but I don’t have even a measly fake one in here. I was forced to be creative. So I whipped up some frosting in a few several colors, and voila!

 _Sugar Flowers_!

A whole bouquet of sugar wildflowers stuck to the surface of and upside down bowl, just like the flowers I used to have out on the roof, before everything fell apart, and I couldn’t bring myself to returned and tend my garden.

I usher her to her seat and help her on the stool, though I know she’s perfectly capable of getting on it herself, I can’t curb the need to touch her… any part of her.

“For you!” I plate two cheese buns on a dish I’ve pipped wild onion blooms on the edge of.

Katniss’ eyes go wide.

She takes one cheese bun delicately, and bites into it with relish. She closes her eyes while chewing, and after swallowing, the floodgates lift.

I panic. I jump from my stool and round over to her, I pick her up bridal style, and carry her to the couch.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart, tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it!”

“Nothing is wrong!” She cries loudly. “The buns are perfect.” She heaves a deep breath while tears stream freely down her pretty face. 

Now I’m at a loss, wondering what triggered this episode. “Okay, but why are you crying then?” I try to be as gentle as possible.”

“I've missed cheese buns! I’ve been craving them for weeks, but you were ignoring me, and I went to the bakery to buy me some, but they were out… and I was so hungry! I ate a whole large pizza all by myself, and threw it all up after… now I can’t even smell pizza! I start gagging just thinking of it.”

She gives me look of misery, then asks me in a tiny voice.

“What if the same happens with Cheese buns? What if this baby decides to hate them. They’re my favorite food ever! I don’t wanna have to start eating gluten free. I want bread! And I want it gluten full!”

“That’ll be ironic, actually. I mean, It’s a baker’s baby.”

She cries even harder after my attempt at a joke.

“This isn’t funny, Peeta! Your baby is making me sick! She hates food!”

“She?” I ask. Katniss isn’t even showing, but I wonder if science is advanced enough, you can tell a baby’s gender so early on.

“It’s a _She_ … Everdeen’s only give girls,” She grouses.

I smirk, “Mellarks only give boys,” I smile at her. “Ask my mother, she’ll complain about it. No daughters or granddaughters for her.“

I lean back on the couch, and she falls on my chest like a rag doll. I start rubbing circles on her back and feel her relax on top of me. I start talking to her in a soothing tone, hoping she’ll either fall asleep on me or gets hungry enough to finish her breakfast. 

“One thing I learned in biology when I was a kid, is that men give the gender chromosome. So maybe is a boy…” 

With the last sentence, all the excitement of the news— crazy as they are— get smashed to smithereens.

“I’m not looking to replace my son.” I say bluntly.

She sits up and looks down at me wearily. I see the storm gathering in her eyes.

“I’m not asking you to.”

My arms fall off of her when she stands from my lap. I let her go, because I need my space right now.

“What are you asking then, Katniss?” I cringe internally, my tone comes out accusing even though it wasn’t my intention.

“I’m not asking you for anything!” Her own tone bellies on anger.

“Really? Because you sure as hell wanted me to know I knocked you up, very badly!”

She turns a violently shade of red. Her eyes are on fire now, I can tell she’s two seconds away of ripping my head off.

“I’m being responsible!” She yells. “You have the right know. But I didn’t do it for you! In the sea of irresponsible shit I’ve done in the last few months, this I wanted to do right, because I owed it to everybody else, starting with Rye and the baby. Whatever you do with the information is totally your prerogative.”

She’s crossed her arms again, but let’s her shoulders fall. “I was hoping you wanted to be part of the baby’s life. I know you already raised a baby from infancy and this is like starting over again, so I’ll understand if this isn’t for you—“

I dig the heels of my hands in my eyes. And then say what’s on the tip of my tongue cutting her off.

“Let’s get married, then.”

“No.” She answers emphatically.

I cut my eyes to her and see her scowling at me.

I roll my eyes in frustration. “Why the fuck not?”

“Because last night you were drunk as fuck, borderline alcohol poisoned, and you still managed to do a better proposal than this shit.” She says throwing her hands in the air.

I’ll be damned! I thought I dreamed that. I guess I did propose to her last night, at least twice if I’m not mistaken, and those did sound better than what I just said.

“I don’t want you asking me to marry you, because I’m pregnant.” She states plucking a cheese bun from her plate, then sitting on the corner of my coffee table facing me.

“I want the baby, though.” I stress. “I just don’t want to replace Rye.”

“No child could ever replace another.” She says tiredly, looking older than her age not for the first time.

Sometimes I forget Katniss is truly and old soul trapped in a young, hot body.

“Peeta, this baby complicates many things. I’m going back to Panem because my mom wants me there until I know what I want to do about my future.” She pauses. “I’m terrified.” She confesses. “Not of the baby! I want this child so much I feel like I’ve been living a lie forever. Which is scary in a different way.” She explains.

She takes a bite of bun and I just stare quietly. Only moving her jaw muscles as she chews.

“People will gossip,” I point out stupidly.

She shrugs, “Prim’s not talking to me at the moment. She called me a no-good-hussy. What do I care if other people talk about me?” Her lip quivers.

I’m beyond pissed off at Primrose. I don’t understand how she could’ve said something like that to her big sister who has always sacrificed for her. And when the first tear rolls down Katniss’ cheek, I jump out of the couch to pace around her, like a protective dog.

“Don’t go back to Panem then. Stay in the city. Move in with me.” I urge her anxiously, shoving a hand into my hair, pulling at the roots.

Katniss shakes her head, staring at her half eaten cheese bun. “Mama says Prim’s just in shock. She’s grieving Rye, and she’ll come around when the baby is here.” Katniss shivers. “But, Prim was so nasty when I told them you were the father. She yelled that I went after you because I’m some kind of horrible gold digging cunt.” She breaks down. “I never thought my little sister could be so mean and angry…”

I grab her in one swoop move and sit her back in my lap, where she belongs. I kiss the shell of her ear, her neck, her jaw. Her hands grasp my shoulders, and her mouth opens up when I kiss her lips. Miraculously, I feel our lives aligning again.

“Everything is gonna be fine, sweetheart,” I tell her raining kisses on the side of her face. “We have each other.”

Katniss relaxes against me, letting me hold her close. She moans softly into my mouth.

I bring us down from the steep road we’re taking with some regret. It’s incredible to me how fast we go from zero to banging just with a couple of kisses.

“I’ve wanted you for so long.” I tell her, leaning my forehead to hers. “Sometimes I’m convinced I’ve wanted you even before Rye was taken from us. If anyone is a hussy, that’s me, not you. You’re so… _pure_! An angel. The only bright spot in my sad, dreary life.” I hesitate for just a moment, but I take her hands in mine, and look straight into her eyes. “I love you, Katniss.” I say honestly.

She blushes, but her smile is more radiant than the sun. She tries to hide it thought.

“I know,” she mumbles, the ghost of her smile hovering on her lips. “You blurted it out a few times last night.”

“And, you?” I ask nervously, “You love me. Real or not real?”

“Real,” she smiles softly.

“Marry me?” My voice dips in a shrill, desperate sound I don’t quite recognize. She makes an unconvinced face, so I rush, “We will go at your pace. We will do as you say. I’ll support your decisions, always.” I kiss her lips again and caress her face as lovingly as I can. “I don’t want you to go back to Panem. Will you please, consider moving in with me? Or at the very least, consider renewing your lease?”

“I told my mother I wouldn’t go back to you until we got some things worked out.” She states firmly.

“You talked your mother about the possibility of getting back together with me? Did she... know you’d want to come back?” The shrill voice is back. It’s longing, mixed with hope and a healthy serving of begging. 

“I told mama everything. And I mean, _everything_! She knew you’d try to lure me back in eventually. She asked me if I’d consider it, knowing how badly things went? I said I might. I loved you enough to think about it. So, she made me promise I’d take things slow and set parameters with you. You’re older and experienced, and she’s afraid of a lopsided relationship.”

“So,” I inhale a shaky breath, ignoring the fact that Mrs. Everdeen distrusts me. I’d feel the same way if I were in her place. “You’re saying there’s a very good chance?” I know I’m pushing it, but I need to make sure.

She huffs. “If we do this, Peeta, I have a list of demands,” announces Katniss business like, “I want you to seek anger and grief counseling, because I’m not a fucking statistic! I will not live in fear of domestic abuse, waiting for the next thing that’ll trigger a hijacked episode, and let you yell at me and destroy shit in a fit of anger. I get that you grew up watching your mother doing that exact same thing, but I just want it to be clear. I won’t tolerate that behavior in my house. You never did it to Rye, which means you can control yourself. So, _control_ it.”

I grimace. “Katniss, I already felt like shit about the whole thing. How do you think I feel now, knowing I threw a lamp near you, and you were already pregnant?” We just stare at each other for a moment, “You are right though. That wasn’t me and I won’t insult you with shallow apologies without actions to back them up. I know how destructive unchecked anger is, and I swear it’ll never, _ever_ , happen again. You want me to get help, and I will. I’ll start looking today. I’ll make myself worthy of your trust again, and I’ll treat you with all the decorum and consideration you deserve. I promise.”

“Good. I’ll consider your many proposals, but I’m still not sure I want a marriage.”

”And I’ll back off and give you space. I want to be part of your life as well as the baby’s life. I know I’ve been a jackass lately, and I will do everything in my power to change that. I really am sorry for all the heartache I’ve caused you. I have no other excuse than I let my own shortcomings blur the view of what was in front of me, and I’ll make it up to you if you let me.”

Katniss considers me quietly for what feels like forever. I feel like I’m being, measured, weighted and I pray I’m not  found lacking, because right now, all I want is for her to give me a chance to show her We can have a full, happy life together. 

She finally nods, causing my heart to beat in my chest again. 

“I need you to help me pack then. You’re officially on trial.”

”Fair enough.” I sigh relieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excerpts from Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe, modified to fit the fic. 
> 
> Mr Poe’s works are now public domain, though, one still needs to treat his writings with respect. 
> 
> “Nevermore” is a very recognizable line from Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven. 
> 
> In this chapter, several passages of interaction between K and P are based (and modified to fit the fic) from RL experience. I won’t delve too much, out of respect of the people in my life that went through this, but the line “Who goes to the graveyard at night?” Is verbatim something I said myself and it wasn’t as lighthearted as Katniss’, in fact I was a little disturbed and worried, but the response I got was VERY similar to what Peeta said to Katniss, except for the “son” part.


	7. I was a child and SHE was a child...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a couple more chapters and this story will reach its end. I truly hope I can do this in a timely manner. 
> 
> All mistakes are mine. Slightly shorter than previous chapters, and very angsty.

“We have time for just a couple more question.” Says my therapist, Dr. Aurelius. He waits for my nod and then asks in his soft, calming voice, “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

I run the tip of my fingers over the supple leather of the wingback chair I’m occupying. I let my eyes fall from the doctor’s spectacled face, and wander around the room for a moment. I absently wonder if his choice of soft, cool colors was a psychologically informed decision, or if he was fond of such a calming palette.

I take my time responding, not because I don’t have an answer, but because way too many thoughts, images and desires pop into my head at once, and I need to gather them all and choose the one with the most weight. I finally return my eyes to the good doctor, and smile easily.

“I’ll be dropping off my child in school, with a full batch of oatmeal cookies. My son or daughter will be the most popular kid in Kindergarten, I can assure you of that.” Daydreaming of a future with a child is the sweetest medicine for a broken heart...

I snuff the notion out before it can take root in my mind and bring down my entire day. I can’t afford to wallow in sadness anymore.

Doctor Aurelius nods slowly, considering my answer for a moment. Then he asks a follow up question. “Do you see yourself doing this as an everyday occurrence?”

“Yeah.” I respond nodding my head slowly, relaxing into my chair.

“And are you alone during this car ride?”

“Yes. I mean, Katniss enjoys sleeping in when she’s pregnant. Chasing our first child while carrying the second just wears her out.” I chuckle for a moment and suddenly my brain hits the breaks, obliterating my daydreaming to smithereens abruptly and destroying the joy I was feeling in one swoop.

The stupid smile that took form in my face freezes and slowly falls when I realize what I just said.

That last few thoughts, slipped by me catching me off guard. I didn’t even know my subconscious has such lofty fantasies and obviously delusional dreams.

Katniss is 16 weeks far, and while I doubt she’ll keep the baby from me, she’s yet to make our ambivalent relationship official, or even tell me with words she wants a relationship with me at all. Sure, we’ve shared a few kisses and snuggles since we made up, but so far we’re just two people having a baby together. Nothing else.

Well, not quite.

We’re good friends that enjoy a good poem, and when she’s feeling more forgiving, she lets me hold her in my arms. Other times she can hardly look at me without scowling. I try to tell myself her hot and cold moods are just a byproduct of her hormones, I’m just too scared it could be anything more sinester than that. Mostly, Katniss and me are  two people riddled with sadness, guilt and loneliness. Katniss and me are only children trying to figure out this big, scary world around us. And the honest to God answer to who Katniss is, is that she is what I hate most about myself: She’s the future I stole from my dead son. So is the baby I put in her womb, but that’s fodder for a different session.

At this rate, I’d say I’ll be attending regular appointments with Dr. Aurelius  for a very long while.

The way I see it, having a baby with Katniss, lugging around all our baggage and the pain of our grief will be a feat of strength and commitment. We’ve barely started to fix our friendship, how can my brain fabricate the idea— the hope— for a future with more children with her, is beyond me.

I grab my water bottle from the end table with fumbling fingers, and gulp down the liquid harshly, hoping to drown the ugly sensations unfolding in the pit of my stomach.

“Mmm… actually, can we scratch that last part and… just… um… leave it at dropping off my kid at school?” I scratch at the nape of my neck and squint at the coffee table between my chair and the doctor.

I see the older man takes his half moon glasses off in my periphery, and make the mistake to look up.

Doctor Aurelius stares at me while wiping the crystals of his glasses with a handkerchief. “Peeta, you know we can’t do that.” He says firmly but not unkindly. “How about this?” He continues, re-adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“You go home, and think about what you really want your future to look like in five years. Don’t hold anything back. If you want more children with Katniss, a marriage and picturesque little house in the suburbs, with a dog inside the picket fence, then so be it. Everything goes.

“Then, we can discuss why you think those dreams should or shouldn’t come to fruition; what do you consider a realistic outcome for all involved, and how do you plan to align that vision with reality.” He stares at me for a moment. “Think about how will the memory of Rye affect the future in your mind’s eye, and we will discuss it during our next session. Remember, we are not here to judge you, but to help you understand yourself and your emotions better.”

Doctor Aurelius stands, placing his notes on a small side table and extends his hands to me as I emulate him. We shake hands and exchange polite parting words, until our next week appointment.

Honestly. I’m not looking forward to sit here next week, while this guy dissects my thoughts, fears and hopes. But I’m still going to do it whether it rains, hails or thunders, because I owe it to Katniss, Rye, my unborn child, and above all, myself. I need to fix the entangled emotions inside my head and heart, so I can be a father again.

I step outside the building and sigh. It’s going to be hell to get my life back on track. Sometimes I scare myself with how much I’ve let pain a grief derail my existence. There are so many things I should’ve done differently, particularly where Katniss is concerned, but what’s done is done, and all I can do is learn from it and keep moving forward.

Katniss moved back to Panem. I proposed to her maybe twice more before she left; then I offered to pay for her expenses wether she stayed or moved, but she refused. She’s returned to her mother’s, with a bag full of crushed dreams and broken promises, to bunk with a sister that’s giving her the cold shoulder, a mother that’s reverted to treat her like an unruly child and waiting for the gossip mills to start churning out judgemental stories about her. It’s all my fault, and she won’t let me do jack about it. 

At the very least, she texted yesterday, and invited me to tag along for her OB appointment tomorrow. I’m actually looking forward to it. 

I fish my phone out of my pocket and call the bakery. Rue’s melodious voice answers.

“Mellark’s Bakery, best cheese buns this side of the Mississippi. How can I help you today?”

“To be honest. You’ve already done a lot to help me! But I guess if you wanted to be a dear, and hold the fort for your old boss for couple of days, it would be swell!” I say smiling at the ground like an idiot.

Rue’s quip comes swiftly. “Boss? What boss? Haven’t you heard, hun? I’m the law in this place! You’re _lucky_ your name is on the sign, otherwise I’d already taken ownership of the shop, and there would be nothing you could do to fight me. I’ve covered for you so much, the employees think I’m you!” We both laugh.

After a moment, Rue sobers up. “Seriously, Peeta. You know you can count on me.”

“I know. Thank you though.”

She sighs. “Are you finally going to see Katniss?”

“Wow! You don’t hold back, do you? Straight for the jugular with you.”

“Peeta, I refuse to go easy on you on account that you’re on a time crunch, bub. You can’t take things slow now. Life goes on, and you need to go hurry and hop on the wagon before you get left behind.”

“She asked for space.” I say lamely. “I begged her to stay with me, and she asked for space.”

“That was two weeks ago!” Rue counters. “Have you talked to her?”

“Of course I have!” I say half defensively and half shamed. “She actually invited me to come to her baby check-up tomorrow if I had the time. At first I was hesitant because I’ve never been to one of those before, but now I can’t wait.”

“Then stop wasting time! Go pack!” Rue practically yells. “Get on with it, silly baker! Go! Just be warned that I’m giving myself a raise in your absence!”

“It’ll be worth it!” I tell her smiling broadly, “You’re the best assistant ever!”

”Damned right I am!”

We share another laugh before disconnecting the call.

Spurred on by Rue’s words, I finally get into my car and drive to my place. I’m scheduled to move into the apartment above the bakery next week, so everything is already in boxes, except for a few daily necessities.

I grab the box of books, and stuff a change of clothes into a small duffle bag. I pack haphazardly my cellphone charger, toiletries, and an empty picture frame I bought for the sonogram I basically stole from Katniss’ fridge. I made a copy of it and plan to put it in the frame for her. The original picture lived in my sketchbook between parchment paper for a while, but it’s been moved to my wallet since, that way I can carry around with me everywhere I go.

I end up running to the bakery, because Katniss still pretty much only tolerate crackers and yeast rolls. When I mention this to Rue, she stuffs more than enough cheese buns, crackers and other dry rolls into a box to last Katniss a month. Or a week, in pregnant mode.

I’m giddy and nervous the whole drive to Panem. My hands knead the steering wheel like I’m trying to juice it. My toes curl and uncurl inside my shoes until I’m in pain, and when I think my heart is beating too fast with pent up energy, my cellphone rings, scaring the shit out of me and tearing a girly scream from my throat.

Johanna’s laughing face pops up on the screen. I swear under my breath. “Hey!” I huff glaring at the phone.

“Hey yourself stranger!” She replies. “You busy? You practically growled at me just now.”

“Well, I’m driving, deep in thought and your call startled me a bit.”

“Awww, did I make you jump?” She teases.

I sigh. “What’s up, Johanna?” My tone comes out curt.

“Geez. What crawled up your ass?” There’s a tense silence hanging over us for a moment, and the Jo says, “So, I’m coming to town on Wednesday. I was thinking we can go out, eat at that place with the karaoke machine and awful lighting by the bakery. Maybe I can stay the rest of the week and you can call in sick, or do whatever bosses do to take days off. Then I’ll help you move your ten thousand Edgar Allan Poe books to your new place—“

“Jo, I’m on my way to Panem right now.” I interrupt her.

“What? Why? Is everyone okay? I haven’t heard of anything and I just had lunch with your sisters-in-law over the weekend.”

“Everyone’s fine, Jo.” I say in a lower tone. “I’m just coming to see Katniss. She just moved back into her mom’s and I just need to talk to her—“

“Katniss again?” Johanna screeches. “I thought you were staying away from her.” She accuses and I’m initially surprised at the anger in her voice, but it's quickly replaced with aggravation the more she talks. “Peeta, I don’t understand why you insist on chasing a girl so immature she’s actually run back home to mommy—“

“She’s pregnant, okay?” I yell furiously. “She’s not immature! On the contrary, she’s doing what’s best for her right now, and I’m going there because I want to support her and show her, she can still count on me when she needs me.”

“For fucks sake, Peeta! Is it even yours? Do I need to introduce you to a condom? Either wrap it up or keep it in your pants! How many bimbos do you have to knock up before—“

I don’t know what other inflaming shit comes out Jo’s mouth, because I hang up on her too angry and indignant to keep hearing her scorching bile.

Meanwhile my eyes burn with fat, angry tears that fall down my cheeks hot and copious, forcing me to seek out the nearest service station, because driving in my condition is just irresponsible, and now I have a baby coming and ‘sort of’ lover to think about before I do any reckless shit.

My hands shake as I cut the ignition and suddenly a growling, angry sob tears from deep within my body, racking me from head to toe, and I’m screaming into my dashboard like I haven’t since finding out my son was killed.

Why has Katniss become such a volatile subject for me and Johanna? I understand my friend is trying to protect me, but her hatred towards Katniss is uncalled for and is actually ripping me apart.

Now that a baby is coming, I feel like I’m going to have to choose between my friend and my child’s mother, and it kills me to say, if it comes down to that, Johanna will never win against my child. I owe Jo a great deal for being there when Rye was growing up, but I won’t hesitate to drop her friendship if she’s going to bring toxicity to my relationship with Katniss, because I want no part of that around my baby. 

I will protect my child’s innocence with my life.

After a while, I manage to calm down a bit. My phone has been going off nonstop since I hanged up on Jo but I ignore it. I have no desire to talk to anyone right now, particularly not Johanna. The phone starts ringing again and I toss it in the back seat. I’m quick to pull my wallet from the center console where I put it when I started the long drive.

The sonogram sits right next Rye’s last picture. A wallet size where he’s wearing his uniform, smiling in front of the American flag.

One of the things I told Katniss— rather rudely— was how I wasn’t looking to replace my son with new children. Looking back, I can’t even imagine how much that would’ve hurt her feelings. I know she would never dream of erasing Rye from either of our lives, but I’ve come to realize how those were the stupidest words to ever cross my lips.

This baby is not a replacement.

Nobody will ever replace Rye, not this little one, not anyone. This new life is my son’s sibling, and they both exist in my heart side by side, regardless of the messed up way in which the baby came to be.

I caress the blob on the sonogram with my thumb tenderly. In my other hand, I run my thumb caressing Rye’s handsome face too.

My children.

I love them both, even though one is gone and the other hasn’t arrived yet. 

“I’m sorry you have a fuck up for a father,” I tell the pictures in my hands. “I love you both, even if I do a poor job showing it. I want to do right by you both, but I don’t know how. I know falling for Katniss is about the worst thing I could’ve ever done by you Rye,” I tell his picture with tears trailing down my face, “But now I have to be there for her and your little sibling.”

I breathe deeply and sniffle a little. “That innocent baby deserves to be loved and cared for. So, I’m begging you, both of you, forgive me for all my screw ups, and help be better. I’m trying. I really am. Please, please, help me be a better man.”

I stay in that parking lot a long time, pleading with my children’s pictures, crying out my stress, and when all my tears have finally dried out, I crank my car back to life and continue my drive to Panem. My children’s pictures stay tucked under the sun visor the rest of the trip.

 

* * *

 

“Call me ‘baby-mama’ one more time, and I’ll shoot an arrow through your eye!” I hear Katniss growl as I approach her family’s porch. “I may be rusty with a bow, but I’m a fucking sharpshooter, I’ll get you close enough!”

I hurry up to the door, because while I knew that Jaguar parked in the drive couldn’t possibly belong to the Everdeens, I wasn’t expecting to recognize the voice of my parents lawyer slicing through the mesh door of Katniss’ family home.

There are short, mocking guffaws. “Sweetheart, I like your spunk. Though I gotta say it isn’t very clever to threaten the attorney trying to help you. In fact, I don’t like this any better than you do, but I need to start working on that document yesterday, and right now, you’re giving me zero helpful information to work with!”

I knock on the frame of the open front door and wait a few seconds for Mrs. Everdeen to come answer it. Her face hardens when she realizes it’s me, but underneath the wariness I can see she’s tired and worn.

A shiver runs up my spine when she clicks open the mesh door and fixes her light, blue eyes on mine. If Katniss is scary when she’s mad, her mother is hands down terrifying.

“Peeta,” She greets me coldly. I can’t say I blame her though.

“Hello, Ms. Lily.” I suck in a long breath. “I’m here—“

“Katniss is in the dining room having a shoutout with your folks’ lawyer. Please, by all means, join us.” She says standing to the side and clearing me a path.

I swallow thickly. “Lily, I have no idea what’s Haymitch doing here, I swear,” I try to explain... or apologize, I’m not sure which.

The woman half grunts half sighs, and gestures for me to follow her. “Your parents found out about the baby. They want to announce it publicly, before the rumor hits the gossip mills.”

“Oh,” I frown. “I haven’t talk to my parents about any of this. I don’t see how they could’ve known.”

Mrs. Everdeen purses her lips, and I have to look away, because I can see a glimpse to Katniss’ future self, and a little thrill shoots through me at the thought of a older, angry Katniss.

I have issues it seems. So many issues.

“I’m afraid Primrose’s outburst at the market the other day may have given it away.”

I turn to ask for details, but we’re just entering the dining room and Katniss is just standing there, hips cocked to the side, arms crossed across her chest and a foot tapping the hardwood floor, pissed off and ravishingly beautiful. My knees quake a little when her flaming gray eyes narrow at me.

I have... SO many fucking issues!

I may have to devote one whole session with Dr. Aurelius asking him if getting turned on by an angry Katniss is some kind of mental problem I need to be concerned about, or if I’m just a perv with a kink? The twitching in my pants under this circumstances can’t be normal.

But the abrasive, obnoxious voice of  Haymitch Abernathy takes care of that problem right away, evaporating any inkling of an inappropriate erection with just one word. 

“Finally!” Haymitch decries.

I blink at the man for a moment, my mouth forming questions that he stops from leaving me with his own acerbic comments.

“Look what the cat drug in. If it isn’t mister dum-dum!” Before I can respond he waves me over impatiently, “Come on, Boy. I don’t have all day, and for all the charm of Sweetheart here, I kinda want to go home.”

“Why exactly are you here, old man?” I ask cautiously, after throwing Katniss a nervous glance.

“I’m here on behalf of your mother, to figure out what’s true about some pesky rumors going around. Once I get my answers, I need to either send out a note to the society page of The Daily Mockingjay, announcing the good news, or start drawing up defamation suits and all that jazz. 

“Sweetheart here already confirmed the pregnancy part, and right now all I need to know is what title to give Miss Everdeen in relation to you” Haymitch drawls, seemingly bored.

“Girl… friend?” I ask slowly seeking Katniss’ eyes nervously, then I feel hopeful when she doesn’t tear my head off, and go for it, “Fiancée, perhaps?” I actually have a ring for her in my pocket, and right now the piece of jewelry is burning a hole in my pants’ pocket.

I only get a scorching glare from Katniss.

“Alright, how about I let you two doofuses talk?” Says Haymitch tiredly, while gray, penetrating eyes shuffle from mine to Katniss’. “Or strangle each other, who cares?” He amends, “Just make it snappy, we don’t have all that long before that wench Sondra Cartwright opens that insufferable big mouth of hers and spreads out inaccuracies again.”

I’m about to chew him up for that, but Katniss cuts in.

“Fine! You write down we eloped, then find out what we need to actually do it and where to get it done. Peeta and I will have some hastily taken portrait of the two of us together, ready for the papers first thing in the morning. Sounds good to you?”

“We will?” I ask stupidly, then I feel all giddy and fuzzy inside. I smile goofily at her, and say dreamily, “You’ll be my wife, then?”

“Fine with me.” Cuts Haymitch in gruffly as if I wasn’t even there. “Now, Sweetheart, there are a few things I need to start getting the ball rolling on before you go off becoming the new blushing Mellark bride. Where can I sit? And do you have internet access here?”

“What kind of ball rolling you need?” I ask Haymitch.

“Well, your mother will lose her shit if she finds out you two didn’t sign a prenup before singing out your sweet, impromptu, I do’s.”

“Prenup?” I balk. “There’s no need for a prenup. Plus, did you hear the woman? We eloped! There was no time for that.” I’m frowning and squaring off my shoulders, readying myself for a fight.

Katniss grounds her teeth. “I don’t care, Peeta. I’ll sign up the damned prenup. As long as I get to put in a couple of clauses myself.”

“Like- like what?” I ask trailing after her as she saunters to a bedroom housing a tiny bed and a huge corner desk with an outdated desktop computer and monitor.

“Cheating clause, maybe? Or terminating marriage after my skin is riddle with stretch marks, and I can’t lose the baby weight after a few years… you know… the usual.” She says almost nonchalantly.

“The usual?” I pretty much spit out, while Haymitch sniggers begins me.

“Isn’t that what men complain about the most?” She shrugs.

“No!” I counter a little offended. “At least, not me!”

She wheels around and faces me right on, her nose bumping mine just a bit more aggressively than I’m prepared, then she hisses. “Look me in the eye, and tell me you know for a fact you won’t complain about me gaining weight or getting old. Shit like that happens all the time. Say it Peeta!” She demands. “Say you won’t complain about my sagging tits, when I’m 30 years old and my once perky boobs have gone the way of the dodo after nursing a baby... or two.” There’s a underlining sadness and fear in her steamy eyes.

Of course I take a step back and stumble against Haymitch. “I-I…”

“That’s what I thought!” She snaps, turns around and motions to the desk for Haymitch.

Haymitch passes me promptly, arching an eyebrow at me, and that breathes some courage back into me.

“Look,” I start slowly, gaining strength little by little. “I know I’ve done some shitty stuff since this all started. Also, I may not know what will happen in the future, Katniss, but I’m no ignorant fool either. I’ve been begging you to marry me since before knowing you were expecting a baby, I know I don’t precisely deserve second or third chances, but I know this, like I know the sun will rise tomorrow: if you agree to marry me, I would cut my leg and both arms before ever saying or doing anything that would purposely hurt you.

“I love you, Katniss. I’m aware there’s a glaring age gap between us. I’m aware I’m not precisely a catch or very mature, I know I’m full of defects, but I swear, I’ll do anything in my power to prove to you I can be a better man. All I ask is for a chance. I promise I’ll do anything you ask of me, to prove I’m trying.” My Head is pounding now. My heart is beating fast and hard. 

Katniss’ lips quiver, her eyes soften and she nods minutely. “I want to believe you, Peeta. I want you to be right about everything.”

Haymitch sighs calling attention to himself. “Listen, Sweetheart. How about you hold off on the whole eloping shtick, and maybe let the Boy take you out for ice cream? Being angry and petty ain’t the way to start a marriage.”

She nods curtly. Then, she stalks past me and her mother, who I had no idea had followed us in here.

I get stares from opposite sides of the tiny room with the computer, and my mind just ruminates on wether I’m supposed to take Katniss out for that ice cream right now, or just go after her to talk? I’m already planning on buying Haymitch a nice bottle of whiskey, when Mrs. Everdeen speaks up, digging a painful dagger through my already beaten heart.

“Haymitch, you better tag up a clause about physical abuse.” The woman gives me the most hateful glare I’ve ever received in my life, and I did knocked up a preacher’s daughter in my teens. “I can't stop Katniss from marrying you,” she tells me, “But so help me. If you EVER, put a finger on my child, Peeta Mellark, I’ll hound you, I’ll tear you apart, and feed you to Buttercup. We’re Clear?” The venon in her voice is enough to freeze the blood in my veins.

“Crystal.” I whisper and step around her with my head so low, my chin touches  my chest. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, many of you have asked for Peeta to get some kind of comeuppance and I figured it was time we met Mrs Everdeen. But if you don’t think Mrs Everdeen’s ultimatum was enough, let me remind you, we are still have to meet Prim and she’s got some choiced words for Peeta as well.
> 
> As usual, the chapter title comes from the poem Annabel Lee from Edgar Allan Poe

**Author's Note:**

>  **Edgar Allan Poe:** was an American writer, editor, and critic best known for his dark poetry and short stories. His works written before 1923 are now Public Domain and can be used in any format. In this particular story, I’ve introduced two of his poems: “Annabel Lee” (which is mentioned several times and even rearranged) and “Alone”, featured in its entirety. 
> 
> **The Five Stages of Grief:** are Anger, Depression, Acceptance, Guilt and Denial. They come and go in no particular order, and some stages can repeat several times during the healing process. Healing can take any length from a few months to a lifetime. There’s no right/wrong way to mourn a lost one. If Depression persists to the point that it affects your life, please seek professional help, it’s manageable when you have the right tools and support systems. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> Please comment below or come say hi at alliswell21@tumblr.com


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